The Trappings of Marriage : Moralities of Marriage Book 4
by elizabethann.west.7
Summary: *Written to be understood even if you haven't read the other 3 published stories* Finally free of both families, Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy are on their way to Scotland to elope. This series imagines what if Mr. Darcy never saved Georgiana Darcy from Mr. Wickham, so it is a complete reimagining of the story, top to bottom.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: As publication nears for The Whisky Wedding, it's time to keep going with new words! This story is Book 4 in my Moralities of Marriage series, BUT, I am writing it in such a way that even if you didn't read Book 1-3, you can still enjoy it. My website broke with the newest Wordpress and I haven't had a chance to fix it yet. But I will soon have up a way to read Book 1 through email. And again, if you join Janeside on Facebook you can also get files of books 1-3 in this series there as well. The other books in this series are By Consequence of Marriage, A Virtue of Marriage, and The Blessing of Marriage, all novels.**

Also, this book will not come out until the end of February. In January I will start posting Much to Conceal which is in a boxed set in KU right now (Mr. Darcy loves Elizabeth Bennet) and I am going to rework that story into a full novel I think. That will release the last day of January in its new form and posted here. And Trappings will be February's title.

XOXOXOX  
Elizabeth Ann West

 _The house is situated in a valley of rolling foothills, in an attitude that it has been a part of Mother Nature for all these years instead of ostentatiously built . . ._

Elizabeth Bennet repeated in her mind the often spoken refrain from Mr. Darcy's stories of Pemberley in her head. Plagued by nightmares of that terrible night her cousin beat her in Kent, the stories of Pemberley had helped her find her much needed sleep to heal during the weeks she had recuperated at his London town home.

The carriage rolled past a graveyard without stopping to pay any respects. Elizabeth Bennet looked to her left as her intended calmly continued to read the book in his hands, unaware how far the carriage had progressed from their last stop in Darley.

"Fitzwilliam? Fitzwilliam?" Elizabeth tried to get his attention, and the man complied once he finished the page he was on.

"Yes, what is your concern?"

"I think we might be almost there."

Darcy looked out the window to see that his future wife's keen observation was, in fact, correct, they had traveled much more distance than he had realized with the preoccupation of Radcliff's novel keeping his attentions. He had not believed Elizabeth when she warned the story was hard to put down but found himself captivated by the drama.

Since leaving Netherfield Park and the intimate evening Elizabeth had offered herself to him, the difficulty of waiting until their actual wedding night became an insurmountable struggle for Darcy. He chastised himself for so foolishly setting such a high expectation when they were to travel, unchaperoned, alone, for nearly a week to Gretna Green. And their journey was to pause again for at least a day, perhaps two or three before they continued. He had no choice but to see to Pemberley's business that had been so woefully neglected since his sister Georgiana's disappearance a year ago come August.

"That is the village of Kympton's cemetery. Not Pemberley's. But we are not but a few miles from my home."

Elizabeth giggled and squirmed in her seat, leaning closer to the window to observe all of the flora and fauna outside. For the past two months, the house of Pemberley had built up in her mind as the ultimate haven, a fairy-tale castle in a land where none of her troubles could reach her.

And there had been troubles. From the day she dove out of the way of Mr. Darcy's racing horse the afternoon after the Meryton Assembly, Elizabeth Bennet had been shunned by her family for refusing her cousin's suit, beaten by the same cousin when she visited his wife and her best friend, Charlotte, and played a part in helping Fitzwilliam avoid the machinations of his family.

Fitzwilliam Darcy had raced to Meryton that day preoccupied he was sent away from London to hide a most urgent search for his sister, Georgiana, who had run off with Mr. George Wickham from Ramsgate. The two were found and married, but then his family wished to force him to marry his sickly cousin, Anne de Bourgh. If Anne did not marry and produce a child, the Rosings estate would pass from the trust where it now resided into Wickham according to Sir Lewis de Bourgh's last will. George Wickham, raised by the steward and his wife at Pemberley, but favored by Darcy's father with a gentleman's education, was the natural child of Sir Lewis de Bourgh from an affair with Elizabeth Burrell, the sister by marriage to the Duke of Northumberland. Through subterfuge, Darcy and Elizabeth had aided Anne and his cousin, Richard Fitzwilliam, in marrying secretly in a love match, thwarting the designs of the elder generation in his family to meddle in the affairs of the younger.

Tucking his book aside, Fitzwilliam moved closer to Elizabeth's person as he too stared out the window.

"And. . . ." He started to say but waited, Elizabeth looking back and forth between him and the window. The carriage rolled past the gate house, and Darcy chuckled. "Now we are on our lands."

"But we've only traveled a little more than a mile since the cemetery?"

Darcy nodded, clasping Elizabeth's hand he felt a surge of joy pulse through his veins. The rightful mistress of his household had crossed the threshold onto his lands; a dream Darcy began having the first night she recovered at Netherfield Park from their fated collision. "The house and main park rest on twelve thousand acres."

Hearing Elizabeth suck in her breath, he squeezed her hand in his.

"Fitzwilliam, this is too much! I am to be mistress of all this?" Elizabeth looked out the window at the rambling hills of farmland, and verdant fields left fallow. Her daily walks would never want for a new view and path as she often did at home when she lived in her father's house!

He nodded and helped Elizabeth traverse the middle of the coach so they might sit on the other side to face in the direction the carriage moved. "See that hill?" He pointed, and Elizabeth crooked her neck, squinting her eyes to make out where he gestured.

"Yes."

"When we crest the top of that hill, we shall stop the carriage, and you will be able to spy the house."

True to his word, Elizabeth battled her nerves for only a few minutes more as the carriage reached the hill and the brakes were applied. Fitzwilliam got out of the carriage and offered his hand to his Elizabeth. Poking her head out of the carriage door as she accepted his assistance, her eyes didn't leave the startling vista below them in the valley.

The afternoon sun positioned low in the sky cast an enchanting gleam across the white marble and stone walls, capped with golden flashing on each window sill. Elizabeth counted quickly nine columns of windows with multiple rows to convey the house stood at least three stories tall. The house exceeded her wildest dreams from the stories she listened to from Fitzwilliam, and she found herself overcome with emotion. Grinning, she asked the man by her side a simple question.

"May we walk the rest of the way?" Elizabeth's legs felt cramped from the two days of riding in the carriage from Netherfield Park to reach Derbyshire. And soon, they had another three days of travel ahead of them to reach the Scottish border so they could marry as she would not turn one and twenty until later in the summer. With no dutiful fathers or crazed aunts chasing them down, Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam were free to elope at the most leisurely pace imaginable.

Mr. Darcy spoke with his driver. The carriage, properly hitched for the hill, began its descent as Fitzwilliam offered his arm to his lady.

"Thank you, Fitzwilliam. I desperately needed a walk."

He nodded and concurred that his legs too needed a stretch.

"The housekeeper is Mrs. Reynolds?" Elizabeth tried to remember the many details Fitzwilliam gave to her in their many talks about the house. He nodded and she continued listing various staff names he had shared.

Less than half an hour later, they neared the beginning of the drive proper, and Elizabeth watched as an army of staff spilled out of the double doors to take their places along the steps to welcome the master and his soon to be wife. Her feet faltered at the hearty display of loyalty and Fitzwilliam paused their progress to kiss Elizabeth's hand in the full view of his staff to signal his unwavering approval of their new mistress.

"Welcome, Elizabeth, to Pemberley."

********  
Here we go, another story. I feel like Elizabeth Bennet looking down at Pemberley for the first time. Heart palpitations, I tell you! :) Thank you so much for all of the support on my stories, for all of the preorders on The Whisky Wedding. If you keep reading, I will keep writing. And we all know I write faster with reviews! :) :)

HUGS!

Elizabeth Ann West


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sheesh! December 19th! So sorry but the ins and outs of publishing The Whisky Wedding over a holiday just sapped all of my working time. But, I am back in the saddle, got up at 5 Am this morning and worked on my blog. Chapter 1 can now be read really nicely over on elizabethannwest dot com and NEW: there and here I am asking if you see a typo or issue, please now feel free to say something in a comment or review. This book we're going to just tackled that as we go and see how that works with the work flow. If it makes things easier on the back end, which I suspect it will, Team Janeside will be rocking and rolling in the Jane Austen variations this year! ::fingers crossed:: Thank you again, in advance for all of the reads and remember, I read every single review, I give each screen name an acknowledgement in the publish version, and more reviews makes me writer FASTER! (it's an addiction, I tell you, I just can't let people down).

HAPPY 2017! Let's DO this!

XOXOXO  
Elizabeth Ann West

The stories Fitzwilliam told Elizabeth could not have prepared her for the true splendor awaiting inside Pemberley. Few introductions were made with the staff as Elizabeth began to feel rather awkwardly about her temporary status of guest in Mr. Darcy's home instead of his wife. All too soon for her tastes, though she had reluctantly agreed, Mr. Darcy took an immediate audience with his steward so as to shorten the amount of time they had to wait before seeking their aim of Gretna Green.

Mrs. Reynolds escorted Elizabeth to a sunny sitting room on the second floor. Elizabeth noted the decor of the room contrasted between the freshness of the paper on the walls and the age of the furniture within.

"The master was quite keen for this room to be refreshed for your personal enjoyment, ma'am. I selected a few pieces of furniture that were favorites of your predecessor, but if the styling is not to your liking –"

"The room is simply marvelous!" Elizabeth beamed as she took in every nook and cranny of the sitting room earnestly. The older housekeeper held a grim expression and once again the lack of official status began to gnaw at Elizabeth's conscience. Being a servant, Mrs. Reynolds could not broach the subject that stood as a gulf between the two women and it was not in Elizabeth's nature to suffer for the sake of pretended politeness. After a short stroll about the room in genuine appreciation, Elizabeth took a seat on the long divan against the far wall. She invited Mrs. Reynolds to take a place in the small chair next to the consort table.

"I am willing to wager my being here is rather uncomfortable for the natural order of the house," Elizabeth confessed. The housekeeper did not shake her head, and Elizabeth took the woman's frozen posture as tacit agreement. "I would like to offer myself to you for any questions or concerns you might hold about my relationship with your master. Mr. Darcy has made it plainly clear to me in the way he speaks about you that there was a large void left when his mother passed away. In many ways, you provided the affection and guidance a young man might come to miss with the loss of such a mother."

"I have never had a cross word from him in my life, and I have known him ever since he was four years old. The master is a kind and gentle soul. I understand that you were in some manner of distress, but he offered you aid." Mrs. Reynolds still did not appear very comfortably engaged in this topic of conversation with her master's supposed mistress, but at least she was participating, and that was a good sign as far as Elizabeth was concerned. She fully expected the staff at the London house would have sent word about the goings-on in Fitzwilliam's life to the senior staff at Pemberley.

"Yes, Fitzwilliam is the kindest man I know." Elizabeth smiled despite herself, a side effect of her affection for the man that the housekeeper did not miss. "So would you like to know our history around the time he ran me over with his horse or when I saved him from the illogical matching with his cousin Miss de Bourgh?" Elizabeth arched her eyebrow to challenge the housekeeper and Mrs. Reynolds did not disappoint her.

Shocked at the plainspoken young woman before her, Mrs. Reynolds exclaimed astonishment at those two simple highlights and clutched the locket she wore around her neck.

For more than half an hour, Elizabeth detailed for Mrs. Nora Reynolds the highs and lows of her courtship and subsequent engagement to Mr. Darcy. She explained how her esteem of his good nature would not permit her to accept the offer of her cousin's hand who was set to inherit her father's home. This noble deed became rewarded with an expulsion from her family's home and a retreat to London just as Mr. Darcy arranged the marriage of his sister to Mr. George Wickham and learned an unpleasant family secret.

"You mean to tell me the master did not know Mr. Wickham's parentage all this time?" Mrs. Reynolds asked, entirely captivated by the tales Elizabeth now shared.

The younger woman shook her head. "No, it came as quite a shock to both him and his cousin when the truth came out. But you will be happy to know we were successful in aiding Colonel Fitzwilliam and Miss Anne de Bourgh to marry before the Archbishop in Kent." Despite the melancholy of remembering the day she left Longbourn, Elizabeth could not contain her happiness for her friend Miss de Bourgh and Mr. Darcy's cousin. Her regret was that her birthday was so late in the year she was unable to marry without her father's blessing, except for eloping to Gretna Green.

"Mrs. Potter wrote to me that –" Mrs. Reynolds smoothed the skirts over her knee and looked down at her weathered hands. She waited and though Elizabeth had to take a deep breath before the next subject matter was discussed, she did encourage the housekeeper to continue.

"Yes? Please have no fear to ask what you must. I intend to have a very long life with Mr. Darcy and I cannot—we cannot—have the housekeeper and the mistress at odds." Elizabeth managed a small smile to add to her lighthearted tone.

Mrs. Reynolds tilted her head to one side impressed with the young woman's maturity and good sense. She had wondered when the master might ever marry but had never thought there would be a woman good enough for him. Here before her sat a young lady of great character and unconditional concern that even Nora Reynolds recognized a suitable match for Master Fitz whens he saw one. "Mrs. Potter wrote you were seriously injured and recovered for many weeks at the townhouse in London."

In spite of how inconsiderate it was, Elizabeth burst out laughing to see a complete stranger so concerned with her well-being before her. She quickly recovered her anxious outburst from an abundance of nervousness and begged Mrs. Reynolds' forgiveness for the faux pas.

"I did not mean to laugh, just now, Mrs. Potter was correct that my injuries were most grave. I suffered a significant head injury and damage to my arm and ankle. My cousin is a very pious and troublesome man who sought to correct my behavior with violence."

Mrs. Reynolds' eyes widened in abject horror. And that a family member could impose such injury made the situation that much worse to her ears. "However did you . . . and the master was there?"

Elizabeth nodded. "You have a new tenant family; they should have arrived two months ago?" Elizabeth scrunched up her nose to think of how long it had been since she had to recover in London and their detour to Netherfield Park.

"The Holbeins."

"Yes, I met their youngest son looking for work to help his family when my cousin took my interference to be a personal affront. The family was much in need, and with Mr. Darcy's help, we reunited them with their family here. On the night my cousin lost his temper beyond reason, the Holbeins offered me shelter. I should dearly like to visit them if there's time before we leave for Scotland, and certainly after we return."

Mrs. Reynolds bristled at the second mention of Miss Bennet's cousin, her shock now turning to anger in the direction of the parson. "Forgive me for speaking ill of your kin, but I hope the master taught your cousin a lesson about how a lady should be treated."

Elizabeth could only offer a half-smile remembering the injury to Fitzwilliam's hands in her honor. "His wife is my very dear friend since childhood. I have it on good authority that my cousin has not lifted a hand since the night Mr. Darcy, his cousin, and a very tall footman of Lady Matlock's paid a visit to the parsonage."

Mrs. Reynolds sniffed to signal she approved of the punishment meted out and no more was shared on that subject. However, there was still more issues for the two women to discuss and Elizabeth requested refreshments. Her stomach rumbled due to the lengthy journey from the last inn.

"Gracious me, where is my head? I was so excited for your arrival I forgot to mention that there are cold meats and bread in the dining room. Let me see about a tray brought up here." Mrs. Reynolds stood, but Elizabeth reached out her arm to stay the housekeeper.

"On second thought, don't go to any trouble. There is a little more that I believe we must discuss and afterward, I should like for you to show me where Mr. Darcy's study is because I fear he has not eaten either. I'm certain he and Mr., Mr. . . ." The name of the steward escaped Elizabeth's memory, and she became frustrated with herself, but Mrs. Reynolds gently tsked her tongue to comfort the young woman and supplied the name.

"Mr. Arnold."

"Yes, Mr. Arnold. I am certain they could be interrupted for a short repast before Mr. Darcy returns to his work."

Mrs. Reynolds nodded her head in agreement at the sound plan and reclaimed her seat next to her future mistress.

"I am afraid that despite my best efforts, the relationship between Mr. Darcy and his sister, Mrs. Wickham, remains rather strained. When we arrived in London, her husband was thrown out of the house, and Mrs. Wickham took it upon herself to spread vicious gossip about us to any who would listen."

Mrs. Reynolds gasped. "But she was ever such a sweet girl! It's that Wickham who must've put her up to it."

Scarcely perceptible, Elizabeth jerked her head to signal a negative response. "I am afraid that when you see Mrs. Wickham again, you will find her quite altered as can happen to a young girl going through those difficult years. She believes herself the wronged party in how her family managed her affairs. Rather than seek change through positive behavior, she has resorted to acting in a hurtful manner." Elizabeth felt sympathy for the former Georgiana Darcy, a young woman of great fortune, no parents, and a lack of attention from her family.

Mrs. Reynolds furrowed her brows. "I must say, it is sad to hear, but do not believe any lack of affection came from the master. Whatever can give his sister any pleasure, was sure to be done in a moment. There is nothing he would not do for her."

Pursing her lips, Elizabeth tried to think of a way to steer the conversation back to the facts of where the family stood instead of passing judgment on her future husband's parenting skills. She had seen firsthand that an abundance of gifts and trinkets could spoil a child far worse than a denial of comforts. Such was a plague on her youngest sister, Lydia. "When we left London I'm afraid to say it was not on the greatest of terms. And I believe she will be quite cross with me as I slashed the budgets for the meat delivery as punishment for her atrocious behavior."

Mrs. Reynolds looked away for a moment, and Elizabeth thought their interview had come to an end when the older woman finally looked back with a slight tremble to her lip. "I have requests, you see, from Miss Georgiana, excuse me, Mrs. Wickham, asking for particular things from the house to be sent to London."

"Please tell me you have not sent any of the items." Now it was Elizabeth who pressed a hand to her chest hoping and praying that the efforts she and Fitzwilliam had made to correct Georgiana's behavior had not become undermined by the good intentions of a softhearted housekeeper.

"No, Miss Bennet. I sent not a thing! Mrs. Potter had said so many of the furnishings in the townhouse were sold. I just did not wish to believe it. With you sitting before me and describing how far from the righteous path that dear girl has fallen, I'm afraid to say I can believe now what I could not believe penned in a letter."

Elizabeth too began to feel a wash of empathy for the absolute destruction ripping through Fitzwilliam's family. Though Mrs. Reynolds was the housekeeper and not a family member, no person on earth could deny the woman held an uncommon love for the two Darcy siblings she watched grow from babe to adulthood. As both women struggled not to lose their countenance before the other, it was Mrs. Reynolds who stood up and bowed her head to Miss Bennet in a formal signal of respect for the young woman.

"If it pleases you, madam, I shall take you to the master's study now as you requested."

Elizabeth Bennet gracefully lifted herself from the divan and set her shoulders in a posture befitting a grand lady of the home such as this. Eagerly, she thrust out a hand in Mrs. Reynolds' direction and waited for the older woman to understand her desire. Slowly, the housekeeper reached up and her new mistress grasped the hand of a woman she felt determined to make her fiercest ally in the next chapters of her life.

"I am so happy we had this talk, and I want you to know that I shall ever be in your debt. Pemberley is your home just as much as it is to be my new home. I hope you will come to me anytime you are concerned or worried for the state of affairs. And I hope you will not mind me coming to you?" It was not the same easiness Elizabeth held with the servants of Longbourn who had known her since she was a child, but in the span of less than one hour, she had succeeded in shoring up the loyalty of the Pemberley staff more than she knew.

"I should be delighted any time you come to speak to me, Miss Bennet. Especially when you are Mrs. Darcy." Despite Mrs. Reynold's original reluctance to show approval of the irregular courtship between her master and this young lady, the natural joy of an upcoming wedding could not be squelched in the small giggle the two women shared.

Elizabeth followed Mrs. Reynolds down the stairs to the south wing of the house where the two new members of an elite sorority of Pemberley interrupted Mr. Darcy and Mr. Arnold in the name of good household management.

Okay, that should be enough backstory help for those new to the series to know where we are. Here we go!

-EAW


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you everyone who has reviewed already! Remember, new rules, if you see a typo let me know! Or if something makes you pause. The new flow is dictateeditrun it through a robot grammar checkyou lovely people on Fanfictionblog. So here and the blog are the last chance to really chime in your opinion, and it won't hurt my feelings, I promise, I listen. :) I reserve the right to disagree though. :) :) Finally, later this month I am putting out a boxed set of Book 1 in this seres + Book 1 in my Seasons series + bonus stand alone novella Much to Conceal that was in a boxed set with April Floyd, Barbara Silkstone, and Kristi Rose. This boxed set will be FREE everywhere that allows me to price that and .99 on Amazon (Amazon doesn't allow free except as a price match). It will be called Three Dates with Mr. Darcy. :) Thank you to the #Janeside who helped me with feedback on the cover!**

 **Right, so back to the story . . . the outline title of this scene is "Mr. Darcy tucks E. into bed." ::giggles"**

Her first night at Pemberley returned feelings of dread tugging on Elizabeth's courage. The setting sun reminded her of the terrors yet to come. When Mr. Darcy escorted her to the customary suite for the mistress of the house, it had been the second time she ventured into the country rose accented rooms. He once more demonstrated the adjoining door between their rooms much like they had enjoyed at his London town home.

As Elizabeth stood next to the bed, she shifted her weight between her feet and nibbled her bottom lip.

"Dearest? If there is anything that makes you uncomfortable, please speak for I should hate to see our home disappoint you."

Elizabeth responded with a hollow laugh. "How on earth might this house disappoint even the King?" She stretched her face into a ghoulish vision that broke through the awkwardness stifling the room. Fitzwilliam enjoyed a laugh and crossed the distance between them to offer the affection of an embrace. Elizabeth pressed the side of her face against his chest and closed her eyes to feel a wave of security steady her agonized nerves. A gentle sway developed between the couple as neither wished to release the other, but it was Fitzwilliam who slowly began to lessen his grip first. Her small hands gripped his lapels and did not allow much space to develop between them.

"Please do not go. I wish to be brave, I tell myself I must be brave. But I fear that another strange house with another strange bed will make all of my nightmares return."

"Elizabeth."

"Please."

Her pleading eyes welled with tears. She tilted her chin up, and her dashing beau leaned down to press a gentle kiss upon her lips. Their kiss deepened and both parties shared a slight moan before once again, Fitzwilliam pulled away first.

"It is different now that we are at Pemberley. I should dearly love to never spend a single night out of your company–"

"Then do not." Elizabeth interrupted.

"It is not as simple as you think," he tried to explain.

Elizabeth tilted her head to one side as her stubbornness began to rise at the declaration. "Pardon me, but are you not master of this great estate? And may not the master do as he pleases?" She tempered her impertinence with a minxish smile. But Fitzwilliam slowly shook his head.

"It is a complicated system of expectations that keeps Pemberley running smoothly. Like all great houses my family has been marred with scandal in more than one generation, but my father and mother made enormous efforts to restore our dignity. And now with my sister. . ." he trailed off.

Fitzwilliam squinted to hold his emotions at bay and the slightest indication of the previous year's stress appeared in the deeper creases at the corners of his eyes. Elizabeth clucked her tongue and once more pressed the side of her face against his chest, signaling Fitzwilliam to wrap his arms around her once more.

"It does not all fall on your shoulders. It cannot. It will not. "

A brief silence filled the room as Darcy and Elizabeth slowly released each other and both found occupation by glancing in different directions. So much had passed between them since the day Mr. Darcy's horse forced Elizabeth to leap off the road into a gully of rocks, and yet nothing like the finality of a wedding ceremony provided them sanctuary from the trials and tribulations of life.

"I should let you prepare for bed. Would you like me to summon your maid?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, I already spoke with Betsy and my things are laid out." Elizabeth opened her hand and gestured toward the shift and robe draped elegantly across the crimson bedspread with gold thread embroidery in the quilting.

Fitzwilliam slowly began to back away when Elizabeth's attention snapped to his movement, and she glared at him.

"You may only retreat to that room, sir if you intend to return." Elizabeth's hands naturally found a position on her hips to emphasize her point.

"Not yet even a wife and playing the shrew already?" Fitzwilliam teased.

"I mean it, you may not abandon me to this enormous room with any number of monsters under the bed." The mention of such childish things made both smirk and neither was angry with the other. Sighing, Elizabeth finally offered a compromise.

"If you will not spend the entire evening in my arms, will you at least read to me so that I may go to sleep with happy memories?"

Another stab of inadequacy caught in Darcy's throat as he lowered himself into a slight bow and could only give the woman of his dreams a proper answer in the affirmative. Her compromise won out, Fitzwilliam readied for bed in his chambers and returned with a book of sonnets.

Although the future bride and groom attempted a shade of propriety by sleeping separately, it was but two hours into her slumber when Elizabeth woke in a screaming fit that brought Fitzwilliam hurriedly to the door adjoining their rooms. She tossed and turned in the darkness, and only his firm touch could rouse her from the mental anguish her cousin still wrought.

"My darling, my darling, you're safe. I was a fool for making you sleep alone." Mr. Darcy tucked Elizabeth into his arms as he sat on the edge of her bed. Though she had long recovered from her injuries, to him, she always felt so inordinately small, a crumple of elbows and knees. He held her tightly to comfort while her body wracked with sobs.

"It is my fault, I am the one–" Elizabeth sniffled. "I am the one incapable of sleeping regularly." She continued to cry as Darcy shushed and rocked her back and forth in an attempt to soothe her.

After a few moments, her crying became no longer urgent but a mere echo of the screams and yells from the height of her nightmare. Darcy pressed a firm kiss against the top of her head as Elizabeth slowly began to unfold herself to take a place next to him.

"Fitzwilliam?"

His husky voice answered her query.

"Yes?"

They settled into a sleeping position like spoons nestled in a drawer.

"I have changed my mind. I want him to suffer as I do. I want revenge." Elizabeth's voice came in a distinct tone Mr. Darcy had not heard from her lips up to this point.

Taking a deep breath and inhaling the lavender scent of his Lizzie, Darcy grinned as she shimmied her shoulders against his chest to find a comfortable spot.

"I am happy to hear you say as much. I already took the liberty of putting such a scheme in place as we speak."

**************

I've been sick the last 5 days, but I am getting back into the swing of things. Next up will be learning what's going on in London . . .


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: It's been cold/flu central in the West household, I'm afraid. I am hopeful we are done passing it back and forth. :) So this scene for those who have not read the other 3, you need to know this series hinges on Darcy never saving Georgiana from Mr. Wickham. They were lost for a time, like Lydia and Wickham, and forced to marry. Only Wickham, now married, has absolutely no incentive to behave and was cut off from the full dowry with fancy legal work. So this scene will seem OOC for what most think of Georgiana, but not within the scope of the series. I confess it is fun to write badly behaving characters . . .

************************

"More wine!" Georgiana Wickham's voice echoed in the empty dining room at Darcy House in London. Abandoned by her friend Caroline Bingley after the Whitcomb party in which she reunited with her banished husband, the young woman further felt the victim when her husband soon stopped coming home to her bed. When nothing happened, Georgiana barked her order louder and directly at the young footman, Jack. The whole staff regretted their new employment seemed to revolve around keeping Mr. Darcy's younger sister well plied with spirits.

Lustfully leering at the young footman as he leaned over to pour more wine into her glass, Georgiana licked her lips as she took in the man's body with her eyes.

"You do pour that so well. Nary a drop spilled." Georgiana offered the young man a compliment laced with a suggestive tone.

Young Jack gulped. "Thank you, ma'am." Jack righted his posture and stepped away from the table when the mistress reached out and grabbed the young footman by the forearm.

"Pray, do not leave so soon. I believe I need assistance in cutting my meat." Georgiana batted her eyes up at the sandy haired youth who began to turn pale white with such notice in front of other members of the staff. He glanced to the first footman of the house for a reprieve but found no ally there. He was on his own in the dangerous waters of admiration from the master's sister.

"Would you – how may I be of assistance?" Jack carefully placed the decanter of wine upon the table, as Georgiana released his arm and slowly handed to him her knife and fork. The footman began to lean to the side of Mrs. Wickham, but Georgiana would not have that.

"No, no," She gently guided him to move to a position behind her chair. "I'm afraid this meat is so tough it shall need to be cut properly." Georgiana's statement briefly reminded her of the horrible way in which her brother's trollop closed off the household accounts to the finest butchers in the city and left Mrs. Wickham with nothing more than the cuts not fit for even a dog. "Stand behind me," she commanded.

Reluctantly, Jack followed her commands and guide, silverware in hand, and carefully cut Mrs. Wickham's meat as the young woman cooed and rubbed her face along each one of his arms as if he were embracing her like a lover and not performing a task as a hired hand. Perspiration began to bead along Jack's forehead as after each cut he looked furtively to the door to the dining room. Mrs. Wickham's husband, George, was a mean sort of man who was once thrown out of the house but brought back in thanks to his young wife. No one had seen him for two days, and Mrs. Wickham became more ornery each hour her husband remained about town.

"Now, take the seat next to me, and I believe I shall need your assistance to eat each bite." Georgiana continued to give inappropriate demands of the young footman until a sudden cough behind them attracted her notice.

Stephen, the most senior footman of the house, apologized profusely and bowed asking for Mrs. Wickham's forgiveness for his misstep. Georgiana cooly slanted her eyes as Jack hoped he would now be released from the attentions of Mrs. Wickham.

"I believe this room is entirely too crowded. Leave us."

Jack winced as the two other footmen in the dining room followed their orders and began to shuffle out to the hall.

"I'm certain you will be able to provide for any need I might have." Georgiana shamelessly flirted with Jack.

"Please ma'am, I should like to, that is, I do not wish to lose my position." Jack stood slightly taller at attention until to his horror he glanced down and Mrs. Wickham's fingertips began to dance from his knee up to his thigh across his breaches.

"Tut tut, I can plainly see when a man is attracted to me. And you shall not lose your position. As a footman, you are to provide any service your master or mistress might need, no?"

Jack looked up at the ceiling as the woman's hand came perilously closer to his personal privacy. "Yes, ma'am."

He breathed a sigh of relief when suddenly her hand snatched away.

"Good. Kindly help me from my chair and let us retire to my chambers. I find I am no longer hungry for this poor excuse for a meal and have other appetites to satisfy. And bring the wine and two glasses."

Torn between rejecting Mrs. Wickham's commands or being thrown out of the house that night, Jack cursed himself for not keeping more of his pay in reserve. He had nary a farthing to even pay for passage to Pemberley where he might plead his case before Mr. Darcy. And so without response, he lifted the heavy oaken chair so that the sixteen-year-old Georgiana Wickham could elegantly rise from her chair and seize a lifestyle so familiar to many a woman in her social set.

She climbed the stairs looking back every few steps at the poor young footman who looked as if he were marching to the executioner. Georgiana laughed as she realized Caroline Bingley had been right all along. As soon as she stopped thinking like a child, the world was indeed much more open to her than she had realized. And if her beast of a husband could spend days in the arms of his lover, then she would do the same. Young Jack would suit for now, but soon she would fight harder for her own household as Caroline had suggested. Her brother's taste in footmen did not please her predilections, but as a mistress in her own right, she could fix that. What was a dowry of £30 000 good for if she couldn't even hire her own servants?


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Remember, if something makes you pause, or there's a typo, let me know. I do another round of "fixing" based on feedback here. Here's another swoon-worthy scene of ODC. Can't get to Scotland fast enough!

**************

Elizabeth Bennet silently recounted her steps as she stood before a new wing of Pemberley so she might remember later. She had climbed the main staircase, turned right, dashed down the corridor to the very end, and then turned left. At the end of that corner, she found a corkscrew set of stairs behind a door barely large enough for a closet. Despite an army of dust bunnies compared to the more frequently used portions of the house, she climbed the stairs to find another corridor with an ancient blue runner before her. She looked out the window realizing she was now on the third floor. The expansive greens of the Pemberley lawns and surrounding forests laid out before her all the way to the reflecting pool. A small contingent of groundsmen dotted the landscape that she could see more clearly if she squinted her eyes. But other than those few workers, Mother Nature's great bounty rolled in a pristine and majestic manner around the estate like so much of the manor house she now explored.

Renewing her focus, Elizabeth began to tiptoe as if somehow reaching a new part of the house required her to remain quiet lest she be found out like a naughty child. But it was her right to discover and learn all that she could about the home, a mission she took most dearly to her heart as day after day Mr. Darcy rarely left his study.

The wood-paneled hallway before her held many doors and she closed her eyes to think of the first number that came to her mind and happily skipped to door number five on the right. The doorknobs were fashioned in brass with a healthy amount of patina and the doors and frames stained in color to match the paneling in the hall instead of the more popular white painted on the second floor. To her surprise, this door was not locked, and she squealed in delight she did not have to bring out the mistress' key as she allowed herself to enter the mysterious room, her basket of provisions still in hand.

Her anticipation outside quickly diminished as the door squeaked open to reveal yet another room with nothing but ghostly furnishings. Elizabeth sighed and frowned as the gorgeous golden carpeting and pale yellow walls appeared cold with every wall hanging, chair, and sofa draped in white cloth. Pushing her disappointment aside, Elizabeth stepped into the room leaving the door behind her open and placed her basket upon the marble hearth before the unused fireplace. Had it not been early summer the room might have been a frozen white echo chamber, but the day's sun had spilled in through the tall windows above the drapes that remained unadorned by fabric.

"Well, this shall be just like opening presents," she said to no one but herself, the sound of her voice giving her a shock of how silent the room truly stood. Calling upon a youthful exuberance, Elizabeth Bennet stepped forward and grasped the corner of the nearest white sheet. With a mighty "Aha!" she pulled the cover to reveal a crimson velvet sofa with gold accents, almost a near match to the coverings of her bedroom's dressings.

Wheeling around on her heel she nearly stumbled over a small mysterious object at her shins, and she reached down to lift another white cloth. This revealed an overstuffed footstool that matched the sofa. Suddenly, the room began to look as if it had a life again as Elizabeth continued around the room removing more and more drop cloths until at last, she came upon a tall painting taking up most of the far wall. Not wishing to pull the great frame down, she gingerly held the bottom of the white covering and rippled up a waft of energy through the fabric so that the top corners fell off their edges and the cloth slowly fluttered to the ground.

Elizabeth coughed as years of dust fluttered down as well, but once the air settled, she stared up at the most beautiful painting of a woman with pale coloring, dark brown hair, but green eyes that seemed to look into your very soul. She stood before the painting taking in every small detail, even noticing the elegant sofa the woman sat upon in her cream dress was the very same furnishings behind her! Elizabeth turned around to compare the two subjects and gawked in surprise as none other Mr. Darcy stood in the room looking down at her basket.

"Fitzwilliam! Whatever are you doing here?" Elizabeth smiled despite her astonishment and swiftly crossed the room, minding the footstool so as not to ungracefully trip, and met him by the fireplace.

"And I might ask the same of you. Mrs. Reynolds told me you are making a habit of opening long-closed rooms and removing the protective cloth. A maid saw you go to the third floor and I thought I might discover your mischief myself."

"It is mischief now for a mistress to learn about her home?" Elizabeth stated more than questioned as she admired her handiwork and did not regret a single action. Her mission was part discovery and part rescue, though the later did not enter her mind until Fitzwilliam now confronted her.

"That is not my sentiment, but surely even you could agree that it might be wiser if we discussed this with Mrs. Reynolds and perhaps the staff could prepare rooms in a sequence for your inspection." Fitzwilliam ceased talking as Elizabeth shook her head.

Elizabeth grasped the handle of her basket and carried it over to the two large expansive windows on the far side near the portrait. She had already pulled the drapes to let in more light when she first found the room held great promise. Two more covered chairs and what must be a table stood in the alcove, and she demonstrated for her soon-to-be-husband precisely why such an arrangement of opening the rooms in a sequence would not suffice.

Using her hand like a great magician, she waved a beckoning palm over the chair and then lifted the white cloth to reveal not an upholstery that matched the sofa, but a leather offering with studs and wooden ornamentation that would make the chair much better in a lodge than in a stately home such as Pemberley. Fitzwilliam's eyes opened wide at the chair, and Elizabeth misunderstood his gaze. She giggled.

"See, you are surprised as I was! I fully expected this chair to match the rest, but what a unique specimen." Elizabeth walked around the chair to stand before it before unceremoniously plopping down to test the springs. "It is so comfortable!" She wiggled her fingers to urge Mr. Darcy to come over and unveil the second mysterious chair, but Fitzwilliam stood stoically by the fireplace, unmoving.

When he refused to play along, Elizabeth uncovered the table and revealed an intricately designed geometric pattern laid in marble across the table top. She moved to unveil the next chair, but Fitzwilliam's voice finally called out.

"Stop."

Elizabeth froze.

She slowly turned her head to see Fitzwilliam angrier than she had ever seen him before.

As she stood and backed away from the chair, Fitzwilliam stormed across the golden carpeting to challenge her with his taller presence.

"Have you any idea what this room is? Who is in that painting above you?" Fitzwilliam pointed, but he dared not look. Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder and realized the woman did look quite familiar.

Suddenly, the furniture made sense. Feminine. Masculine. This had been a particular sitting room of his parents.

"She is your mother?"

"We shouldn't be in here," Fitzwilliam began, and he tried to take Elizabeth's hand to urge her to the door, but she jerked it away.

"No." She darted out her other hand and pulled the white sheet off the other chair finally revealing one that matched the upholstery of the sofa.

"Elizabeth…"

"Can't you see? This house. These rooms. They've all been buried, and it's sad. This is not what your parents would have wanted, for you to live in a monument."

Fitzwilliam rubbed his hand across his forehead and finally braved looking up at the oil portrait of his mother when she was but married to his father for a year. As a boy, he had always loved that painting, and he remembered many an evening coming into this room with his nanny leading the way to spend time with his parents. All of the good memories were long before his mother grew sicker with each child she could not carry to term. By the time Georgiana was born, his mother no longer possessed the energy to come up to the third floor from the new family wing below redecorated solely to accommodate her illness.

Darcy pulled himself from his melancholy recollection as he noticed Elizabeth had taken a seat in his mother's customary chair and began to pull out food from her basket.

"What is this?" he asked, suddenly noticing the scene to be much more cheerful than he first assessed.

Elizabeth tilted her head to the window. "Every day I eat my midday meal in a new room of this house. I have found I prefer rooms with east facing windows as it has the prettiest view of the grounds."

Darcy slowly lowered himself into his father's chair, and scowled at the truth the love of his life seemed to force him to face at every turn. "If you prefer the lawn, I can see your point. But the Conservatory on the south side holds a veritable garden indoors and leads out to the manicured roses that were a favorite of my mother's."

Elizabeth looked up at Fitzwilliam as she dutifully handed him the small bottle of wine she had asked the Cook to tuck into the basket. "The Conservatory? I'm afraid I have not discovered that room yet. Perhaps I shall find it in time." She watched him barely struggle with the corkscrew to open the bottle. "But it is cheating that you've given me the direction," she noted. He offered her a sheepish grin and poured the wine into glasses Elizabeth produced from the basket.

Once more he tried to convince Elizabeth into a more predictable study of the house. She raised her glass to his idea and soundly rejected it.

"As I am not yet allowed to explore outdoors without you, and you are always in your study with important work, I have satisfied myself with the discovery of the indoors. You cannot ruin my fun, Mr. Darcy, with maps and listings of rooms. I may not find them all before we go to Scotland, but I shall treasure the ones that I find first."

"But the work. The staff?" Mr. Darcy glanced around the room at the utter disarray of white cloths all about the floor.

"Yes, I meant to speak to you about that. Unless there is a question of cost, I should like to increase the staff. This house is so lovely and . . . large." Elizabeth laughed at her vulgarity, and Mr. Darcy joined her. She placed her wine glass down upon the table and reached across for Fitzwilliam's hand. Still slightly taken aback at the times when Elizabeth initiated affection, his thumb gently rubbed her petite form interlaced with his.

"I want us to fill this house with life again. Friends, family, people!" Elizabeth laughed.

Fitzwilliam gave her a sultry stare as she pulled her hand back and continued to remove items from the basket for their impromptu picnic indoors.

As Mr. Darcy aided her efforts, he had to admit she was completely right.

"You mean I do not sound like a spoiled bride making changes for change's sake?" Elizabeth arched an eyebrow making her husband cough that she would be so plain spoken with him.

"Not in the slightest." He sipped a healthy portion of his wine. Two birds flew by the window in a mid-air tussle over some matter before diving lower beyond their view in the window. "If I was certain we could be back to finalize the harvest plans . . ."

"Fitzwilliam, I am not impatient. I know you have been away for months. Since last autumn!"

"We would leave Pemberley this afternoon for the border," he finished.

Elizabeth gulped and folded her hands in her lap, then changed her mind to find a morsel to eat and give them employment.

"I promise, no more than another week." And Darcy meant this vow as Elizabeth sighed, revealing she had secretly hoped it would be a shorter spell. In all aspects of his life, patience remained the virtue Fitzwilliam found the greatest comfort in. He had more than a few ideas of how he might help fulfill Elizabeth's request that Pemberley be full of life once more, but those ideas would have to wait.

Once they married over the anvil, he did not intend for them to leave Carver House for two months or more since he wished to give her the excitement of a wedding trip without the actual travel. Both of them had traveled more than their fair share in less than a year. And keeping what few traditions he might, he did not share this new intelligence with her so some element of the wedding trip might be a surprise, even if it was merely the duration.

"Another glass of wine before you leave?" she asked, offering for them to finish the bottle. Darcy smiled and leaned forward to give Elizabeth a quick kiss.

"Only if you give me a hint as to what direction I might go to find you again tomorrow."

*********  
This is the last of what I have written so far. Will work on dictating more scenes this afternoon and tomorrow! THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ALL OF THE REVIEWS AND FEEDBACK!

XOXOXO Elizabeth Ann West


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Happy Valentine's Day! My daughter today pronounced that "Life is not a straight line. There are always obstacles." We've been CURVY all winter long, I can tell you! This scene wasn't planned, but I think now that I have written it, my creative block is free and clear as it's a needed turning point for Mr. Bennet and Mrs. Bennet. Yes, Mr. Bennet has been sick all along, in Book 1 Elizabeth confesses to Jane she only thought to seek John Lucas out because her father collapsed. So here are Mr. Bennet and Mrs. Bennet learning their nearly adult daughters are a force all their own...

*****************

Mr. Bennet of Longbourn peered into the small hand-glass rescued from the meager possessions remaining of his second daughter, Elizabeth. With Jane married, Elizabeth off with that cad Mr. Darcy, and Kitty in hiding with her married sister, the volume at his entailed estate primarily existed at a diminished level compared to the same time last year.

He turned his head side to side and glanced for spots. Finding none, he stuck out his tongue which appeared a deep purple from his penchant for drinking port throughout the day. The damn wars had made any decent spirit from the Continent and now America hard to come by, but the gains in Portugal at least kept port in somewhat regular supply.

His hand shook as he flipped the looking glass over and tucked it back into his desk just as the door to his study burst open to a flummoxed Mrs. Bennet.

"Mr. Bennet! Do you know who it is I have just seen and heard the most distressing news?" Mrs. Bennet's volume of voice had not waned despite the lack of family members currently living in her home.

Mr. Bennet shrugged, but did not bother with a further response to his wife who would continue in a one-sided conversation without effort on his part.

"Why, my sister Phillips has told me that Jane has taken to her bed and Kitty will remain at Netherfield in service to her sister!" Mrs. Bennet paced the small rectangle of carpet in front her husband's desk before turning around to confront him directly. "Did you sanction this arrangement?"

Mr. Bennet sighed as he interlaced his fingers below his chin. To claim he had sanctioned such an arrangement would be a falsehood. To describe being thrown out of the Bingley residence by none other than the affable Mr. Bingley himself when he had tried to take both Elizabeth and Kitty home to Longbourn a fortnight ago was entirely more accurate. However, Mr. Bennet's pride was not of such a low register for him to confess he held little control over any of his daughters, despite the evidence of losing two-fifths of their population to their headstrong ways.

"Mr. Bennet!"

With a cough and clearing of his throat, a husband of a score and five years began the practiced skills of polite discussion with his easily agitated wife. "It was you who detailed to me that Jane's condition belied a complication, was it not?"

Mrs. Bennet quibbled her lower lip but then appeared to think twice about such an admission. She pressed her mouth into a thin line and made a small sound that betrayed her complicity in her husband's question but also vocalized her existing disgust at being passed over by her eldest daughter for comfort.

"And did you not unequivocally say we could not receive Mr. Darcy and Lizzie even though we knew that Mr. and Mrs. Bingley supported their cause?"

"We could not! Why poor Lydia still mopes and cries over her embarrassment."

Mr. Bennet nodded. His breath hitched with tightness in his chest that made keeping his composure a challenge. Believing himself to be sitting too long in one attitude, he pushed up from his chair and soon felt an immediate regret for the solution. Trailing his fingers delicately along the edge of his desk in a protective manner to steady himself if it should be needed, he slowly approached his wife. "We live the consequences of our positions. When I die–"

"Do not speak of such things; I cannot bear it." Mrs. Bennet tried to turn away to emphasize her emotional response to a greater height than perhaps she felt. Mr. Bennet gently touched her shoulder to turn her back towards him.

"When I am gone you will have precious little to live upon. You, Mary, and Lydia should survive. I cannot advise pursuing further discord with your eldest daughter."

"But she has rejected me! Not a line for her dear Mama but she writes to her Aunt Phillips . . . And she says that Kitty is painting." Mrs. Bennet's eyes widened as if such an activity of artistic endeavor was akin to walking the streets at night.

Mr. Bennet laughed a hollow echo of his once jovial self, and suddenly Mrs. Bennet's face fell. She reached up to take her husband's hand from her shoulder and held it tentatively in her own. With the smallest voice any would be privy to hearing come from Mrs. Bennet's mouth, the woman most anxious to see her five daughters married in good matches, displayed an uncommon instance of sense.

"Your condition has progressed," she pronounced with no theatrics or fluttering of handkerchiefs.

Mr. Bennet scowled.

"Progressed, regressed, that fool Jones has a different prognosis for me each time he comes. I feel no better or worse."

Mrs. Bennet released her husband's hand as he trampled backward a few steps to find his chair once more. She twisted her bottom lip and bit the corner, a behavior Mr. Bennet had long seen his favorite daughter, Elizabeth, perform in a reflection of her maternal lineage.

Mr. Bennet smiled thinking of the many times young Lizzie had come to him, and yet she would come to him no more. When he had confronted his daughters and their beaus at Netherfield Park just two weeks ago, he had drawn a line in the sand for Elizabeth to come home and declare her loyalties once and for all. She had declared in the Bingley's foyer precisely where her loyalties lay, but they were not with him.

Mrs. Bennet misinterpreted her husband's wistful smile as she wrestled with herself about sharing all of the intelligence she gathered at her sister's home. Thinking her husband in a fair mood, she no longer held back information she worried would distress her husband the most.

"Mr. Darcy and our daughter have left Netherfield. They did so the morning after Kitty's removed herself to Jane's home."

Mr. Bennet clasped his face and pulled his fingertips across the skin around his mouth down to his chin.

"So the die is cast."

"Should you not go after them?" Mrs. Bennet's question stood practically rhetorical. Half a month's head start meant there was no catching Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth before they crossed the Scottish border. They were likely already married over the anvil as the nearest hamlet to do the job was only a week's ride away. Mr. Bennet explained as much to his wife, but Mrs. Bennet shook her head.

"Jane has had a letter. It appears they stopped at Pemberley for Mr. Darcy to see to his affairs before continuing and the delay is longer than anticipated. You were right, Mr. Bennet. That man possessed not a single honorable intention towards our daughter, and here I was slightly foolish in hoping our daughter was right about him."

As his wife prattled on about plans for dinner and an invitation to the Phillips for cards later that week, Mr. Bennet privately withdrew in his mind to his memories of the young Lizzie playing chess and reading in his study. He perfunctorily nodded at the prescribed times to his wife's further discussion, but he would not allow himself to fully reflect on the last nail in the coffin for his favorite daughter's fall from grace. At least, he would not think about it further until he was alone with nothing but the bottle of port.

**********

A/N I am taking a much needed visit with my family next week. We are looking at end of March at the earliest for this story.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Three Dates with Mr. Darcy is now up on all of the vendors save Apple (working on that), and that boxed set has Book 1 of this series in it. Also, don't forget the Janeside on Facebook... I have files in there of all of my books. :) I took a vacation to see family and reread this scene this morning to edit it up. Apart from the transcription software turning "Mr. Darcy recognized the look on Elizabeth's face and cleared his throat before running a finger along the edge of his cup." to "Mr. Darcy recognized the look on Elizabeth's face and cleared his throat before running a finger along the edge of his crop." which is an entirely DIFFERENT kind of story ;) this chapter was a pretty easy clean up. And big of the sigh-inducing. Can't wait to get these two IN THE CARRIAGE and on their way to Scotland.

******

Another week at Pemberley passed in a peaceful manner despite Elizabeth Bennet's continued explorations of the house. Fitzwilliam negotiated a cease-fire between Mrs. Reynolds and his intended by reminding Mrs. Reynolds of her place in the chain of command. Continuing her orders, Mrs. Reynolds tamped down the lower staff's grumblings about the unorthodox relationship between the master and the future mistress.

After breaking their fast in the Conservatory, a room Elizabeth did finally discover with Fitzwilliam's clues and agreed was one of the best locations in the home thanks to the careful gardening of the indoor plants and flowers, Mr. Darcy enumerated the last tasks necessary before their departure.

Thoughtfully, Elizabeth replaced her teacup to her saucer and blinked in consternation at her love. Mr. Darcy recognized the look on Elizabeth's face and cleared his throat before running a finger along the edge of his cup.

"I wish you would allow me to help you. I would never go so far to say I was my father's secretary, but I often wrote letters of business for him and assisted with the many accounts." Elizabeth repeated the same offer she had peppered Fitzwilliam with over the previous week in between her explorations of the house.

"Yes, I would dearly love to work beside you. However, I am afraid that when you are near my focus is severely lacking. Besides, you would not wish me to fire poor Mr. Arnold because you have replaced him?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I could never take the place of a steward!" Elizabeth kept her tone light, but negotiating her new role as his partner in life stressed her last bit of patience as she learned a woman's role involved a delicate balance of finding her satisfaction yet impugning no others' insecurities.

"Your mother did not keep the accounts at Longbourn?" Darcy asked taking care to make sure his words were not insulting.

Elizabeth shrugged and poked at the last few bites of ham on her plate. "She made the decisions in regards to the menu and the management, and though all of my sisters were taught to do the sums, I held the most skill in the endeavor. Jane helped Mother by being courteous at all times, and I helped Mother by being calculating." She laughed lightly, and Fitzwilliam joined the tease of herself. While he laughed, Fitzwilliam motioned for the table to be cleared. He stood from his chair and walked around the table to offer a hand to Elizabeth.

"Although you may believe I have not listened to your requests, I can assure you Madam that your every comfort is my greatest desire." Fitzwilliam locked eyes with Elizabeth as she gently wet her lips in anticipation of a kiss that did not come. "With your permission, I should like to show you a part of the house."

Elizabeth protested. "Fitzwilliam, no! I thought you agreed it was permissible for me to discover the house on my own."

Darcy began to tug on Elizabeth's hand, and she naturally followed his longer gait out of the conservatory and into the hall. "I promise this is not disclosing a new part of the house, but one in which you've already been." Fitzwilliam grinned as Elizabeth's expression became unreadable in confusion since he spoke in riddles instead of plainly.

As the Conservatory sat in the far corner of the south wing making it only suitable for the morning meal of the day due to its distance from the kitchen, the couple traversed three corridors before arriving in the main foyer. Their steps echoed on the marble floor as Elizabeth continued to follow Fitzwilliam straight to the back of the house where the library and his study resided. But he did not lead them to either of those rooms and instead ended their journey in front of the door to a small downstairs parlor.

"We saw the sitting room the first day we arrived," she pronounced, realizing the room fit his clue.

Darcy turned his back to the door and slid his hand behind him to work the knob in a dramatic fashion so that he could still see Elizabeth's face when she saw his surprise.

"Indeed. But I'm afraid you shall find it is a sitting room no longer."

Darcy stepped side to side as Elizabeth attempted to encourage him to open the door faster by leaning around him. His other hand playfully batted away her efforts to open the door as he continued to make her wait impatiently. Finally, Elizabeth put her hands on her hips and scoffed at Fitzwilliam's annoying behavior of taunting her with what lay behind the door.

Fitzwilliam leaned down and pecked Elizabeth on the cheek, an action that left her skin with the sensation of a tingle, as he finally turned the knob and allowed the door swing open behind his back.

"My darling Elizabeth, I present to you, the Mistress' study."

He led her into the sitting room now transformed into a feminine version of his room on the other side of the shared wall. The furnishings were borrowed from around the house and represented the treasures she enumerated him each night when she shared the fruits of her explorations. From his mother's chair in the third-floor sitting room to the mechanical swivel chair she had admired in the library, the room held her favorite furniture. The drapes were a light lavender to allow plenty of light to spill into the room. A sitting area sat preserved in the corner with two shelves lined with books from the library and a gray floral Persian with muted maroons providing a luxurious floor underneath their feet. A Queen Anne styled writing desk stood just beneath the large double windows with light filtering through a handblown Venetian inkwell placing a kaleidoscope of colors across the numerous quills already trimmed and laying upon a blue velvet blotter.

"This is for me? However did you accomplish this work without my knowing?" Elizabeth asked in all astonishment as the movement of furniture and changing of the books would most certainly require a great deal of industry that she completely missed though she resided in the same house.

"I had assistance, and you might recall that you and I have taken numerous trips to visit the grounds in the past week."

Elizabeth stood in the middle of the room still taking it all in but stomped her foot lightly as she grinned so widely her cheeks began to ache. "You are crafty, Mr. Darcy, I shall have to keep my eyes upon you."

Fitzwilliam took great delight in showing Elizabeth more of the features of the room including the Catherine Bennet original watercolor of Oakham Mount that held the prized position over the fireplace. As Mr. Darcy showed her the accounting books for the house would now be under her purview and explained that Mrs. Reynolds would now come to her in this space rather than Elizabeth going down to the housekeeper's office in the basement level, Elizabeth listened intently and felt a surge of happiness in her chest. And while she agreed with all of the decisions, decor, and even arrangement of the furniture, she could not help but notice the wall between their offices was startlingly bare.

"Fitzwilliam? Is there something wrong with that wall?" She pointed in the direction of the obvious blankness in the room. But Mr. Darcy shook his head.

"While we are in Scotland I have made arrangements for a door to be installed between our studies if that pleases you? I know I said I could not bear to focus with you in the same room as me, and that is still true, but I would like for you to have your own entrance into my study. And me into yours, for those times when despite our responsibilities we should like to enjoy one another's company." Fitzwilliam blushed as he did not go into great detail about all that he imagined could happen with a door between the studies while allowing the doors to the hall to be locked. But Elizabeth more than understood his insinuation. She gently walked over to the wall and placed her small hand on a place where the door would most likely go. Her eyes caught the view outdoors she turned to look at him with an impish smile.

"I agree with your capital improvements, sir, but I have a slight suggestion of my own. Could there be small veranda placed outside of this space with a door going to the outdoors?"

Mr. Darcy joined his Elizabeth on the side of the room that divided their workspaces and took a look out of the same window as she did. He could take the country girl from Hertfordshire to any country in the kingdom and yet there would be no denying her penchant for the outdoors.

"I shall agree to your improvement only if you shall consider learning to ride a horse with the same fervor you pursue your hobby of walking." Mr. Darcy's hands protectively grasped Elizabeth's waist and pulled her back against his chest. Elizabeth leaned her head back and turned to the side so that her cheek might rest against his coat.

"Oh very well, you do drive a hard bargain, Mr. Darcy. But when I say I ride poorly it is not false modesty."

Fitzwilliam tipped his head to kiss the top of hers and squeezed her midsection with his arms. "You cannot shake my knowledge Miss Elizabeth Bennet that there is nothing you cannot do that you put your heart and mind into accomplishing."

Elizabeth sighed at his compliment, and Mr. Darcy also reminded her that riding a horse would make it easier for her to visit the Holbein family that she'd rescued from her cousin's plebe lands to an empty tenant farm on the grounds of Pemberley.

Regretfully, Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam broke apart when Mrs. Reynolds knocked to arrive at her appointed time to go over the accounts. Mr. Darcy left his housekeeper and the woman of his heart to see to their work as he grumpily joined his steward in his study.

"Do we have the last listing of the markets for the wool?" Fitzwilliam asked Mr. Arnold as he sat in his appointed wooden chair at the corner of Darcy's desk. A tinkling of feminine laughter drifted through the thin wall separating the two spaces. Mr. Darcy looked at his steward, and his steward quickly looked down at his shoes, and despite himself, Fitzwilliam laughed as he realized his exchange with Elizabeth had not been quite so private as he expected. But no lasting harm was done as it remained a largely innocent exchange.

Regardless, it was very good to know that sound traveled easily between the two rooms before the studies became his and hers of a very devoted married couple.

*********************  
Here we go! thanks for reading, if you see anything odd, call it out in the reviews, or just cheer me on! Reviews that cheer me on make me write FASTER for sure! :)

XOXOXO  
Elizabeth Ann West


	8. Chapter 8

The plot thickens and thickens :) Pretty soon, something is going to have to give . . .

***********

Alnwick Castle, the country home of the Duke of Northumberland, hosted its annual summer fete under a cloud of uncertainty. Wars, social climbing, and the assassination of the Prime Minister had rattled more than a few old money families. But it was the hushed schemes of Lord Strange that tittered through the evening dinner parties and afternoon picnics. The guest list of Hugh Percy held not just their status in common, but also their investing.

"Good shot, Matlock. Didn't think you would have enough spin." Northumberland gave a half-hearted compliment to the man most eager to win his praise. While the Earl of Matlock did not have funds tied up in the mining scheme, he did owe the Duke a hefty sum from his failed investments of shipping wool to the Americas. His cargo had been seized by a privateer, and he had been forced to take a personal loan from His Grace. Payment was to be the wedding between his eldest son and the Duke's third daughter, Mary Louise.

Henry Fitzwilliam accepted a fresh drink from a footman as another stepped up to take his shot.

"My James plays well, you'll have a worthy opponent in a son-in-law." Henry chuckled at his own jest for a short moment before halting when none in the room joined him.

Lord Wexley leaned over and called his play, hitting the cue with a crisp crack. "And yet Brahmington is not here. What was it? A headache he called it like an old maid?"

Wexley's joke garnered a hearty laugh from the other men in the Duke's billiard room, with Lord Hampton adding on.

"No doubt he'll be searching for his powders!"

The Earl of Matlock began to defend his son when Hugh Percy pressed the back of his hand against the earl's breast.

"Save your breath, Matlock. Everyone's vices are known in this room…we all partake in the same club."

Henry Fitzwilliam's face whitened at the casual mention of White's, one of the places squabbling about the accounts of the Fitzwilliam family. He swallowed hard as the chatter moved on from his son's habits to some other subject. It was his turn again when the Duke once more took charge.

"Hampton, play for Matlock," he handed the earl's cue to the man half his age. "We have that dreadful business of a wedding to attend to."

The two bachelors in the room, Hampton and Wexley, laughed and continued to drink as Henry Fitzwilliam followed Hugh Percy to a back corner where two chairs set in a perfect position for a private conversation.

"Have a seat, Matlock, you look as though you might fall off your feet." The Duke's staff courteously served them both, but Matlock still held a mostly fresh drink, so he waved off.

"I did not know the gossip of my son had reached so far," Matlock said with a bitter tone.

"Did you honestly think I would marry one of my daughters off to a man I did not know everything about?"

"I apologize, again, that my second son was not available. His mother and I had no idea he and his cousin planned a secret wedding in Kent…" Matlock trailed off as Northumberland scowled.

"That's old business. I pulled you aside to tell you that your nephew Darcy came to me in London."

The Earl of Matlock sat up straighter in the leather chair with ancient springs.

"He held the most interesting intelligence about one man's parentage, a George Wickham." The Duke folded his hands beneath his chin and watched Henry Fitzwilliam's expression change to one of contempt before quickly reversing to a neutral position for negotiation.

"So you know this man, Mr. Wickham," the Duke pressed.

"He married my niece. But I am certain you were already aware of that."

"Yes, but about his parents. Is he truly the bastard son of Lewis de Bourgh?"

The Earl of Matlock bit his tongue as he sized up the Duke of Northumberland's interest in a man so wholly unconnected to him. He tried to think about what he knew of the horrendous scandal nearly thirty years prior when he was just a young lad, and his older sister came crying to their father, heavy with child. Her husband had run off with some woman, but for the life of Henry Fitzwilliam, he could not recall the woman's name. He closed his eyes, and all of the popular lady names came to him in a jumble. Bess? Mary? He could not think of the name of George Wickham's mother.

"I can confirm the man's paternity as much as anyone knows, de Bourgh did claim him as his bastard."

"Interesting. I do not suppose you will elaborate?"

"It is a private family matter. But what is your interest in this?" The Earl of Matlock felt a surge of protection for his sister, Catherine, and pushed back against the Duke's inquiries.

"Oh, nothing sinister. It would appear your nephew had cause to ask me to look into helping the young man."

The Earl of Matlock bristled at the poor lie. "The day Darcy wants to help Wickham is the day I eat my hat." Henry Fitzwilliam again laughed at his own wit and stopped when the Duke did not join him.

"You believe your nephew Darcy has less than honorable intentions towards his sister's husband? I believe he worries about his family's entanglements with this mining business. . ." The Duke spun his glass on the marbled consort table between them and watched the liquid stubbornly ripple very little at the movement.

"Darcy is too smart to think there's silver in his home county!"

"Indeed." The Duke took a drink. "He is." And with a signal the conversation was at a close, the Duke of Northumberland stood from his chair and abandoned the Earl of Matlock to the quiet corner of the billiard room, electing to return to watching the match between Hampton and Wexley.

Henry Fitzwilliam fumbled with his glass as he had quite forgotten he was holding it, and then downed the contents to settle the heavy feeling of dread nestling in his stomach. He would have to warn his wife about this, Margaret would be better at learning His Grace's angle. He also worried about the mining scheme the Duke alluded to; he knew Darcy would never, but what if George Wickham?

The Earl of Matlock shook his head, confident his son and nephew had secured Georgiana's dowry funds. Although he had to bribe a clerk at the family's shared solicitor, he could not imagine that sniveling young man fed him false information about the Darcy accounts. There would not have been time to falsify them.

Shouts from the billiard game distracted Henry Fitzwilliam further.

"I say, you did not call that shot. You lost," Wexley challenged Hampton.

"I tapped the corner with my cue before I took my shot! The wager is mine!"

Wexley and Hampton grew dangerously close to one another between the billiard table and the fireplace. Wexley towered over Hampton by a good two inches but Hampton's braun out-sized Wexley's wiry frame.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, the game was originally between Wexley and Matlock, therefore it is upon Matlock to claim the win." The Duke threw the conflict at the feet of Henry Fitzwilliam.

"What? Oh, jolly good game, Wexley. I fear my mind is not for billiards tonight. You'll have to all excuse me." The Earl of Matlock nodded his respect and received a swift nod in return from the peers in the room.

"But I won! The money should be mine."

"Why not counter-wager, Hampton? You won one game, why not double the bet on two out of three since you have better odds? Hmm?" The Duke of Northumberland goaded the younger man as he kept an eye on Henry Fitzwilliam leaving the room. As Hampton sputtered and spouted until he considered the Duke's words the heavy wooden door closed leaving the room down one occupant.

After Hampton had accepted the new wager with a small tease from Wexley, the Duke gave his champion Wexley a surreptitious nod and poor Hampton lost the next two games soundly, making a gentleman's agreement for three hundred pounds.

The house party would not be the first at Alnwick Castle where fortunes swung as wildly as a cricket bat. Nor with Hugh Percy as the head of the family would it be the last.

*********  
Thank you dearly for the reviews and well wishes. I READ THEM! They make me smile and roll up my sleeves and get some ink slung on the page! :) Hugs to all of my readers, and we will keep on trucking on Trappings...

XOXOXO  
Elizabeth Ann West

P.S. A HUGE thank you to everyone who has purchased a copy of any of my books. One of the reasons I am able to keep everything up here free for the fandom to read is because of your support. You are amazing and get all of the Almack's Vouchers from me for being the cream of the crop! :)


	9. Chapter 9

Hang with me... I know it's a lot but please remember there are 3 other books of story that already happened. I am doing my best to hit on the information everyone would need who hasn't read those, but I promise this is a good tale. :) This scene is the Wicked Wickhams, but next scene is Darcy and Elizabeth GETTING INTO THE CARRIAGE, I promise. :)

********

"Jack, come back to bed. I have not finished with you." Georgiana Wickham teased the young footman under her power as he hastily scrounged on the floor for his clothing. Georgiana pitched her laughter to a manic register. Her wayward husband stood in the doorway frozen with shock and anger as his eyes never left the scrambling footman with a murderous gaze intimidating the lad.

"I am to come home to this? Georgie, you replaced me?" George Wickham continued to block the door as Jack the footman seized in the middle of the room to look back and forth between the married couple. He could not dare to approach the door, but nor was there any safety with Mrs. Wickham. Unsure of what to do, he began to dress in a twitchy manner as he expected an attack at any moment. George Wickham took one gallant step into the room and spun on his heel to address his disheveled wife surrounded by blankets.

Georgiana Wickham reached over and lifted the glass of wine to empty the goblet with a greedy thirst. As she wiped her mouth, she waved her hand and flashed her husband a dangerous look. "As you always put it, I have learned how to survive. Now let my paramour leave this room unscathed, and we may speak." George Wickham sneered at his wife's demand until Georgiana carefully slid open the drawer to her nightstand and pulled out a pistol, pointing it directly at him. Wickham lifted his hands in surrender as the young footman skittered out the door and slammed it shut behind him.

"So you would shoot me now?"

Georgiana beamed and ran her free hand through her tousled curls before whipping off the blanket to stand naked before her husband. The profile of her side clearly showed a belly protruding a number of inches with child. Wickham licked his lips at the alluring curves as his young wife now sported as a result over their liaisons. He was versed enough to know the timeline of a child's growth with a round curve hanging over her thighs; his wife had to be at least some months along.

"Has the baby quickened?"

"Why do you think I took a lover? If you can be in the arms of Mrs. Younge, then I will certainly not keep my bed cold like a widow when I am not one."

"But you looked not this rounded a fortnight ago . . ."

Georgiana shrugged. Mrs. Potter had told her it might take many months for a first-time mother to show progress. "I've not had my courses in over four months, which you would know if you had been here."

George Wickham took another two steps, but his wife raised the pistol once more. George stopped.

"Before you come closer, I shall have your word that you will not strike me nor hurt me in any way. For if you do, I will have no qualms slitting your throat from ear to ear as you sleep."

"Georgie–"

Georgiana held up her empty palm still standing in the glorious nude of a woman with child. "No, save your silver tongue for a woman with ears willing to listen. Things are different now; I have other priorities I must worry about." Georgiana's empty hand protectively cradled her belly. "I have written to my brother and cousin to brief them on my condition. I intend to go to Pemberley to have my child, and I shall not have you come along unless you can behave."

George Wickham was never one to pick a fight he was not sure he would win. He was a man always willing to do what was necessary to get his, but he survived through the years of his schemes with a healthy amount of self-preservation. He moved his hands to reach inside his coat pocket, and Georgiana clucked her tongue, so he ceased mid-action with his fingertips just touching the lining.

"Can we agree I did not expect to find you in flagrante delicto and that perhaps I came home for a reason?"

"You mean you came home because you need me."

Wickham shrugged. But his little wife was not incorrect.

"I came to invite you for an evening on the town, Mrs. Wickham. We have both been invited to another dinner party at the Whitcombs, this time with the riches to spend."

Georgiana wrinkled her nose as Wickham leaned forward and lifted Georgiana's robe from where it draped over the trunk in front of her bed. He held out the silk garment as a way to relax his wife and also encourage her to cover up. The continued view of her physical offerings began to stir in his loins a need he knew would not be fulfilled in her present state of anger. His gesture of kindness worked. Georgiana lowered the pistol. She accepted her robe and put the weapon back into the drawer.

"Don't think for a moment you are safe. I have weapons hidden all throughout this house as I made good use of your absence for a fortnight.

"Georgie, I–" George Wickham truly appeared conflicted as he tried to explain his absence to his wife. "I have spent those nights wheeling and dealing to secure our place in society."

Georgiana snorted as she pulled the bell cord four times for her maid. They were to go out that evening, and she needed to bathe.

"You mean you spent those nights in the arms of your lover. We no longer have to lie to each other, George. You never loved me. And while I thought I was in love with you, it appears it was a childhood fancy." Georgiana Wickham, the sister of Fitzwilliam Darcy, granddaughter of the fifth Earl of Matlock, stared at her husband with a cold indifference in her eyes. Life experience had broken the young, vivacious girl he had married but George Wickham was not selfless enough to feel remorse over his responsibility for the change in her.

"So you will help me? I mean us? I can count on you?" George reached out his hand, and Georgiana responded to offer her own. Her husband gallantly bent over and kissed the top almost as a show of fealty to a queen with how low he bowed.

"Don't think too much of this. I am horrendously bored, and the food here is terrible. I am going to dine and drink, and if you can orchestrate your schemes around that, then I shall be present to assist you."

George Wickham began to explain the particulars of his need to speak to a few judges and other government officials as he finally had the proof of Lord Strange's scheme to defraud dozens of men. He droned on and on about the details of each investment Georgiana listened halfheartedly until finally, her bath was ready. For her, this news was old news as she had helped him nick the ledger the last time they played cards at the Whitcombs. As she dismissed her husband from her suite of rooms, George Wickham stood in the doorway for the detail he had held closest to his chest.

"The Prince Regent himself has invested," he pronounced to Georgiana's gasp. Once she overcame her surprise, his young, diminutive wife slowly smiled with her eyes slanted in greed.

"And if we bring down Lord Strange, His Majesty will be quite grateful?"

Wickham pursed his lips with a fulsome expression, and flourishly bowed before his wife. "I do believe if we conduct ourselves correctly, within a year we shall be Lord and Lady Wickham."

With his fanciful promise of a title from an appreciative monarch, Georgiana giggled in a close approximation of the girl who ran away with the steward son. Finally shooing George completely away, Georgiana Wickham enjoyed her bath with the hope that a babe born in the autumn and Lord Strange's mining business ruined, her fortunes were indeed taking a turn for the better.

**************************  
Oh the wicked wickhams... and yes Georgiana is with child, which in the 3rd book was hinted at with her constantly eating and getting larger. :) In this story she feels the injured party and as most spoiled 16 year olds left to their own devices she is not a very likable character . . . perhaps motherhood will change her.


	10. Chapter 10

Here we go, off to Scotland... in the series a LOT happens that more or less forces Elizabeth and Darcy into an off courtship. In Book 3, the scandal sheets had more than enough gossip about them which exacerbated the break with the Bennet family. Darcy's family is embroiled in scandal from Book 1, he nearly killed Elizabeth with his horse, and then up and disappeared from the county when his sister was found. Mr. Bennet is sick and wanted Elizabeth to marry collins and live at Longbourn with him. When she rejected Collins, she was thrown out of Longbourn to the Gardiners right after the Bingley wedding. She renewed the acquaintance with Mr. Darcy and they came to an understanding only for his family to ruin everything. That's in Book 2. Mr. Collins is horrific villain. Then in Book 3, they sought one last chance to marry from Meryton and were denied. So at this point, they could not care less about reputation nor convention since they really have nothing left to lose. I hope that helps for those who haven't read Books 1-3, and serves a good synopsis for those who have. :)

Hope THIS scene redeems the story for many of you. :) And if not, I understand everyone has their tastes and a BIG thank you to everyone loving it so far! I feel the momentum building!

XOXOX  
Elizabeth Ann West

Three of the most modern coaches owned by the Darcy family lined up in the drive heavily packed for the elopement to Gretna Green. The full coterie of staff and belongings would permit an extended wedding trip at Carver House further in the north of Scotland. Fitzwilliam Darcy crouched next to the vehicle in the middle of the caravan that was to carry him and his beloved. He peered through the spokes of the wheel to visually inspect the tongue and axles for himself.

"I tells you, sir, me and Jamie crawled each undercarriage ourselves and looked carefully for any signs of breakage."

Mr. Darcy sighed and pushed up from the gravel drive to stand his full height. He slapped his hands back and forth to loosen any small pebbles that stuck to his gloves before clapping his driver on the shoulder. "I believe that you did just as Simmons asked. Call me a superstitious groom, but until I have Miss Bennet across the border and before the anvil, I'm afraid I leave nothing to fate."

The driver and his master shared a hollow laugh, but Darcy could not shake the ominous feeling of dread that lifted the small hairs on the back of his neck. He could not place his finger on it, but like a pressure drop before a great storm, he felt anxious.

A small lad ran up to the master and tipped his hat as Darcy accepted from the boy a letter.

"Mr. Arnold sent me to run from the gatehouse." The boy gasped for breath. "He says the rest can wait, sir," he gasped again. "But says this be a letter you'd want right away."

Darcy complimented the boy for his diligence before he ran off on his next errand. Darcy inspected the letter that was not open, but upon seeing the return address realized it was from his sister, Georgiana Wickham, in London. Darcy groaned and tucked the letter into his pocket as above him on the steps of Pemberley stood a sight he wished to etch forever in his mind.

Attired in a full travel outfit of many layers in a soft petal pink, Elizabeth stood flanked by her maid and his man Simmons at the top of the stairs ready for leave at the appointed hour. Darcy's breath caught in his throat. She giggled and began to take the steps shaking Darcy out of his stupor. He dashed up the worn stone entryway in a stride of three to four steps at a time with his long legs to catch up to Elizabeth and offer her his arm.

"I thought you would wait for me in the entryway," he said.

"And I thought you would not take forever in checking the carriages. Honestly, Fitzwilliam, I watched you from the window and wondered if you were going to crawl underneath the carriage yourself?" Elizabeth teased her soon-to-be husband, but only lightly. She had come to rely on his steadfastness and acute attention to detail since January when she had boldly decided to return a book of sonnets to his London home after she was cast out of Longbourn to her relations in Cheapside.

As the staff poured out of the main door to see the master and the woman who would return as his wife off on their journey, Darcy and Elizabeth continued to break with tradition by riding alone in the middle carriage. Simmons, Betsy, and other servants filled the first and third carriage with two additional armed footmen in each vehicle. For Darcy and Elizabeth's coach, the armed footmen rode on the jumpseat. The height of the summer travel season dictated the necessity of the additional protection as Darcy would be taking with him many valuables as he did not intend return to Pemberley with Elizabeth until late autumn at the earliest.

Other than his love of Pemberley, Fitzwilliam Darcy held a good mind to find solidarity with his ancient clansmen and remain in the Highlands of Scotland his remaining days. Looking over at the bright young woman sitting beside him eagerly waving to the staff that offered her the minimum level of respect though she took care not to show offense taken, he realized such a drastic escape to Scotland would take her too far from the world she loved. The couple lurched jerkily as the three coaches began the procession through the drive and took up a leisurely speed to the gatehouse. Elizabeth settled back against the bench next to her intended, her breath a bit rapid as she twisted her reticule between her hands. Darcy noticed her nervousness and gallantly reached his large hand over to comfort hers. Elizabeth looked up at him expectantly and managed a half smile. But even he could see she was putting on a brave face.

Darcy cleared his throat. "I am ever so sorry this is the only way, my love."

Elizabeth looked at him with a quizzical brow and then laughed. "I cannot say I am upset at the means in which we become husband and wife."

"But your father and your family? I confess that part of my design in pausing so long at Pemberley was hope that an express be sent. I made sure to instruct Bingley to make it known we would be stopping at Pemberley before we would continue to Gretna Green."

Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders and shook her head. "I'm afraid you're not well acquainted with my father." Her voice tried to keep a light tone, but a mixture of her embarrassment and anxiousness made her declaration come out shaky. "I am not entirely sure what caused him to become so prejudiced against you. At first, I thought after I rejected Mr. Collins I had insulted his pride personally, but he still cannot even admit how horrible of a man my cousin…" Elizabeth scowled as she struggled to get the words out and she privately chastised herself that she would not cry. There would be no tears in the carriage on the way to her greatest dreams since she fell in love with Fitzwilliam Darcy at Netherfield Park.

Thinking back to when they first courted in her sickroom, Elizabeth restored her countenance, and as the coach passed the stone arch to mark the end of the estate grounds, she offered Fitzwilliam a mischievous smile. "How was it that you knew when you loved me?"

"I could say I was in the middle before I realized I'd even begun." Mr. Darcy said to Elizabeth's scoff. Seeing an opening, he took another ridiculous position. "In fact," he paused to lean over quickly and kiss Elizabeth's lips. Despite the great surprise to her, she heartily welcomed his attentions with her hands snaking effortlessly around his neck. They broke apart so that he might continue. "In fact, I might say it was love at first sight."

"Oho, I'm certain I looked my best unconscious and bleeding in the ditch." Though she had been seriously injured when she dove out of the way of his racing horse and experienced many months of pain and suffering as a result, she could now find the folly in their first introduction of persons.

"But you could never claim to have loved me at first sight."

Elizabeth crossed her arms in front of her chest taking him up in his game of wits. "Never tell a lady which she may or may not claim as a position, sir."

"Sir?" Darcy leaned closer so that his nose tickled just below her ear next to her jaw. Elizabeth shivered and scooted just ever so slightly away from him. She twisted her torso so that she might address them directly.

"I will have you know that from the earliest moments of our acquaintance I found myself distractedly attracted to your good manners and sincere care for my well-being."

Fitzwilliam leaned closer to her as though he might kiss her once more and Elizabeth tilted her chin up in anticipation. He paused right before reaching her.

"Truly? The moment that you saw me as you lay in your sickbed you felt such strong feelings?" His voice cracked with emotion, and Elizabeth nodded.

Fitzwilliam bellowed with a chuckle as he pecked Elizabeth's lips and then leaned back for what he expected to be swift retribution.

"Well thank God Mr. Bingley married your sister because you thought I was him!"

Elizabeth squawked and played up a sense of insult, but it was all just for sport. The happy couple on their way to the altar in Gretna Green were not the least bit upset with one another and spent the better part of an hour reminiscing on all they had been through since that fateful day when Elizabeth jumped out of the way of his horse. She even thanked him for delaying them so long at Pemberley just in case her father had a change of heart and granted his permission for them to marry from her home parish.

It was not until after two stops to switch out the horses, and the sun hung low in the sky as they neared their last stop for the night that Elizabeth nuzzled up against Fitzwilliam's broad shoulders and fell fast asleep. Darcy did not mind holding Elizabeth as she slept, though the sun's low angle nearly blinded him, he could not reach to pull the far shade without disturbing her. Neither could he reach his novel that he had packed away in the basket below them thinking they would hold more conversation before stopping for the night.

Elizabeth murmured unintelligibly in her sleep and stirred, Fitzwilliam gently squeezed her upper arms, and his embrace seemed to settle her once more. His right hand felt a sharp jab near his wrist, and he thought perhaps a pin from her hair or gown had poked him. He craned his neck around to see the offending item was not iron, but the sharp corner of a letter pressed into his hand right before they had left and forgotten almost as soon as he had tucked it away. Carefully, he reached down to pull the missive from his pocket and managed to break the seal to unfold the parchment without disturbing Elizabeth.

He quickly read over the insincere lines of inquiry into his health and Elizabeth's in his sister's hand around thinly veiled complaints about being left in such poverty of lifestyle. He quickly skipped to the end where his sister made her pleas, confessing she was with child and that her greatest wish was to have the babe at Pemberley.

Darcy blew out an audible gasp as he had not realized he had held his breath as he read the letter. Spying that Elizabeth still did not stir, he leaned his head back against the top of the bench cushion to look up at the dark ceiling of the carriage. The setting sun in a race with them to their last inn matched his mood as it allowed the interior of the carriage to grow darker and darker.

Pressing his lips into a firm line, Fitzwilliam Darcy folded the parchment so carefully written by his sister days ago and lifted the window pane closest to him. Without a single regret and no more willingness to sacrifice his happiness for the spoiled demands of his sister, Fitzwilliam Darcy tore the parchment into pieces and let them flutter out the window to the cow pasture beside the road.

Too bad we can't throw Georgiana into the cow pasture . .. :) but yeah one reason I was STUCK was it was originally going to be a different letter that arrived that Darcy crumpled and was like "NOPE I'm done being everything to everyone else, I'm getting married, end of story." And he will get that letter later, those events are still planned, but I do THANK the readers who said "can we go to scotland now already?" because that HELPED me realize I was holding onto a darling that needed release. Yes, it is a moment I've had in my head since the day I dreamed of "What if Georgiana married George Wickham?" but ultimately, nearly 200,000 words into this epic storyline, it wasn't right for Darcy. And I see that now. KISSES AND HUGS!

review review review I can't wait to hear your thoughts!

PS great catch on seized vs ceased... I fixed that in the final copy for the copyeditor! XOXOX


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: I know, I am awful. But I am TRYING to get back into the hang of write harder and faster. :) I am working of getting out of my own way and REMINDING myself that I have fans who are anxiously waiting this tale. So I promise to do my best and write from the heart the story I can, and cast off the doubt that's constantly saying "this is all messed up" because I just sat down to reread the whole thing, and no, it doesn't NOT suck! :) LOL We are our own worst enemies...

Hope you enjoy some Anne and Richard! The good news is the next 4 scenes after this are written, 1 is edited roughly and I will post it tomorrow. :)

******

The Dowager Cottage at Rosings stood remarkably improved with the attentions of two months from the newly married Fitzwilliams. Drafts along the windowsills and cracks in the plaster had all seen repairs. New challenges of improving the furnishings and linens of the home were all that stood between Richard Fitzwilliam and his bride, Anne, enjoying the fruits of their labor.

Richard opened the door to the cottage and accepted a gentle peck from his wife in greeting. "Was that Mrs. Collins walking down the lane?"

Anne sighed. "It was. She came for tea, but I'm afraid she could not stay."

Richard grimaced and rubbed his chin now sporting the beginnings of a most unfashionable beard. If his comrades in London could see him now, they would mock him for looking as though he had joined the Navy. "That is a shame, I had hoped to discuss with her the letter I received from Darcy –"

Anne hushed Richard and violently threw up her hands to make him stop talking. Her husband gave her a look of complete bewilderment as she pointed back towards the kitchens. She quickly lowered her voice.

"Julia has spied the kitchen maid making frequent trips beyond the kitchens of the main house."

Richard walked closer to his wife as she retreated further to the dated sitting room off the main entry. He joined her in the conspiratorial whispers.

"Do you mean to say we quarter a spy?"

Anne shrugged her shoulders. "I cannot be sure, but perhaps we should take a walk to discuss the matter more."

Anne Fitzwilliam reached out to divest the sofa of a quilt to her husband's snicker. Richard took the blanket from his wife as her personal servant, Julia, suddenly appeared with her charge's spencer and bonnet.

"Thank you, Julia." Anne accepted the assistance with gratitude.

"I thought I heard the Colonel arrive, and expected you would take a stroll." Julia demonstrated a peculiarity on the Dowager Cottage. And prefer to be regarded to as Miss while Richard eschewed any reference as master. And so the staff had fallen back to his military rank as a sign of respect which suited Richard just fine as though the man had changed his clothes, the clothing of a gentleman had not changed the man.

The many acres of Rosings produced the peaceful coexistence since the Fitzwilliams retreated from the main home to their own establishment. As the entire estate lay tentatively in a trust due to the ridiculous last will of Sir Lewis de Bourgh, Anne's mother did not formally control any of the holdings. And though that may be the case on paper, actually dethroning Lady Catherine de Bourgh from a home she enjoyed for nearly thirty years proved an impossible task.

Anne had lived mostly a sickly life. Warmer weather abated most of the symptoms of her weakened lungs, yet she was no fool to think that when colder weather returned she would not suffer just the same as she had since she was a young girl. Therefore, having never enjoyed the chaos and excitement of London being a debutante, she held no interest in living in the main house if she and her husband could take find freedom from her mother's rule in the Dowager Cottage. The name cottage was a misnomer as the home boasted not less than ten bedrooms and required a small staff to run.

As a second son, Richard had joined the military with a bought commission at his earliest opportunity. Comforts had come and gone depending on the officers quarters he was assigned, but a veteran of the Peninsula Wars, he had spent equal amounts of time sleeping in a tent on the ground, or if it was cold, in the stables. Though he begrudged his aunt for her stubborn ways and exceedingly meddling machinations, he too did not mind a good life in a smaller home that permitted him to be his own man.

When they were first married, Richard and Anne discovered the privacy of a grassy clearing in a forest on the property, a clearing within walking distance of their smaller home. They no longer needed such privacy to enjoy time in one another's company, the first habits of their young marriage continued to bring a source of excitement and thrill of the chase. It was the same clearing that two months ago Anne confessed to Richard she knew all about the particulars of her father's will, though she was married unless she produced an heir, she would not inherit Rosings. The other possible heir had no idea he might stand to inherit as that was none other than George Wickham. In his last years, Sir Lewis grew obsessed with the notion of his bloodline failing to carry his legacy further. Thus he placed his estate in a trust to thwart his shrewish wife and unconventionally included his bastard child with a woman married into the aristocracy in his line of succession. Without an entailment or title, his solicitor Longwell held no choice in the matter to overrule his wishes.

"So what does our cousin Darcy have to impart? I fear I have not yet received a letter from Elizabeth though I daresay she might be more than occupied with her own life to write." Anne began the conversation as Richard settled the blanket over a thicket of grass. The sun's rays made the day uncomfortably warm, and he swiftly removed his coat to lie along the edge of their impromptu seating area while Anne began to unbutton her spencer.

"I am happy you suggested we come here because I'm afraid my news will not be to your liking."

"Oh?" She settled against her husband's chest as he supported them both with his arms behind him. Tucking a gentle lock of his wife's hair behind her ears, he leaned forward for a gentle nibble before pressing a kiss against her temple.

Richard sighed.

"He wishes for me to personally deliver the documents against Parson Collins to his Eminence the Archbishop."

Anne remained thoughtfully silent as the mention of the Archbishop conjured both happy memories of the day they clandestinely married in the chapel before the godfather of both Darcy and Anne, yet also a sadness as she had grown to rely on the company of Charlotte Collins.

"But what should happen to Mrs. Collins?" Anne asked. She felt her husband shrug behind her.

"I would assume she could return to her family or some other arrangement could be made for her here. Or she might follow her husband as he is due an inheritance." Richard scowled at how hopelessly tangled all of their lives were with one another. Without the help Elizabeth Bennet and his cousin Darcy, the Fitzwilliams would not enjoy the happiness they now possessed. Yet Elizabeth's home of Longbourn would pass to the same man that nearly killed her with a violent beating before Easter. William Collins was a squat, sniveling sort of man who simpered before all demonstrations of power and yet took out his own insecurities on any and all weaker than him.

"Does Elizabeth wish for this retribution upon her kin?" Anne thought highly of the young woman who strongly defied her mother and cousin and saved a young family from starvation on the glebe lands. But Anne was most grateful for when Elizabeth brought a lively reading of A Midsummer Night's Dream to her sick room as just those few months ago she could scarcely walk due to her illness.

"That is why Darcy asks for me to take the evidence to London."

"Evidence of the assault? Is there a statement from Dr. Matthews?" The same physician who treated Elizabeth was instrumental for Anne to find a way to live as full of a life as she might despite her condition. The regiment required an abundance of rest on her part, but as she no longer fell victim to coughing spells, she trusted the syrups he prescribed had recovered her health so she might carry a child. Her mother's physician, Dr. Smeads, never relieved Anne of any symptom but to provide her with laudanum.

A sour taste filled Richard's mouth.

"The ecclesiastic court will not find fault with a vicar for correcting his cousin, it is only the mismanagement of the glebe lands that we have a claim to potentially remove him from the living without having to pay restitution."

"And what if we must pay him the value of the living for the rest of his days?" Anne knew as well as Richard that the coffers of Rosings suffered through years of mismanagement and limitations from lying in trust. They could not endure such a ruling to pay the old parson as well as the new parson. A portion of her dowry provided for the repairs to the Dowager's Cottage!

"This is why all hinged upon Elizabeth's wishes. Darcy has assured me they want satisfaction for the man and if it comes to a matter of cost, he shall provide."

Anne leaned forward and twisted around to look at her husband directly.

"But what do you think about Fitzwilliam's plan?" Anne held up her hand as though taking an oath. "That he has done much for us I cannot complain, nor can you. But it is different now, and we must act only so far as we are both willing to carry a cause forward. If you act, I just wish for it to be on your own accord and not as some order of Fitzwilliam Darcy."

Anne jutted her chin out as she challenged Richard's personal opinion on the issue. Seeing the muscles in his neck tense, she tentatively feared she had pushed too far in questioning her husband's independence from their cousin.

Through clenched teeth, Richard issued his final decision on the matter which more than satisfied his wife.

"If the man had so much as raised a hand to you I would have choked the life out of him. The Darcy did not is the only mercy that our cousin Elizabeth has afforded the man and he should be grateful for that kindness."

Anne nodded and plucked a daisy from the small patch growing in their clearing. She ran the stem through her fingers as she agreed with her husband despite her care for Mrs. Collins.

"How long do you believe you'll have to be in London and when do you leave?" She gently beat his chest with the poor flower, punctuating her inquiry.

Richard leaned forward almost to a crawl. He took a deep breath to inhale the scent of the flower in his wife's hands. She giggled at his antics, and Richard growled before snapping his head up to kiss Anne properly on the lips.

"I believe our cousin's business can wait until tomorrow," he said, kissing her again. "Or the next day," they kissed once more, this time longer as a release of the building passion between them. Anne gently kept possession of her husband's lower lip for half a second longer than she ought before she allowed him to pull away.

"Or perhaps next week?" She asked eliciting more of his amorous attentions as he heartily agreed there was no rush. London could wait one more week.

******  
As always, I take your notes, like console table, LOL. I do dictate, so homonyms or words that sound similar to the real word is always a common error because the computer makes a guess and I don't always catch it because my brain knows what it is supposed to say, so it just fixes it. But I HAVE to dictate or you would have no stories because I can't type for more than an hour or so without aggravating my nerve issues in my neck and hand. So bare with me. and I dearly appreciate any positive kudos and catches of whoopsies. :)

XOXOXOXOXOX  
Elizabeth Ann West


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: For those in my Facebook group Janeside, you know I've been dealing with the ill effects of health issues but didn't know that my lack of energy, constant pain, and major fatigue was due to a serious vitamin deficiency! Live and learn! The great news is I am back on track to healthier and happier 2017 complete with working out and eating healthier! I wish the same for you, and please, if any of you ever feel like something isn't right, check with your GP. I wish I had months earlier, silly me.

*******************************************

Despite pushing the teams of horses and his staff to the very limits of their travel abilities, Mr. Darcy and his bride arrived in Gretna Green after the blacksmiths closed for the day. With none to marry them, the fatigued couple remained inside the carriage while Darcy's man, Simmons, went inside The Three Hammers on the northern side of the village to inquire about a room. A bit of extra coin and mentioning the Darcy name quickly persuaded the innkeeper and his wife to remove themselves to the loft for the evening. The tragedy of waiting another night for their wedding that seemed longer than all of the rest would at least pass with a bed to sleep in.

Across the border, there was no need for pretense as most of the couples intending to marry at the anvil took only one room and no one raised an eyebrow. The business of Gretna Green brought money flowing to provide accommodations for all of the young people looking to escape the demands of relatives. A side business cropped up around such intrigue as after a happy couple passed through, soon came their very angry relatives looking for answers. Silver and gold could buy you both a swing of the hammer or a flap of the lips, depending on which side a patron fell on the disputed marriage match. In the case of Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, there would be no angry relatives, thus their union would provide merely half the profit.

An unusually wet summer had delayed their progress north of Derbyshire with the roads becoming nearly impassable just before they crossed over into Scotland. More than once Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth alighted from the carriage so the equipage could be pushed with the least amount of weight through the muck and mire. The first two times were quite exciting and broke up the monotony of their travel, but by the third and fourth time, Elizabeth grew weary standing on the side of the road in a strange country, no longer wishing to comment on the sights as they looked much the same as the previous two delays.

In spite of the late hour of their arrival, the staff of the inn provided hot water for their baths and Elizabeth made faces at herself in the looking glass at her own reflection. As she brushed out her own curls having wished for some time alone even from her maid, she flipped her long tresses back, shocked with herself at how quickly she was transforming into Mrs. Darcy.

How could she dare complain about any of their travel experiences thus far? With her sister Jane, Elizabeth had often taken the Mail Coach to London for visits to their aunt and uncle. Never had her travel accommodations been as luxurious as her trips with Mr. Darcy. Yes, the mud became a great inconvenience as she looked at her skirts drying by the fire that Betsy had already washed and beaten to the best of her ability, but it was unlikely the light blue skirts would come clean again. A short burst of laughter escaped Elizabeth's mouth and she covered it with her hand as she realized she immediately regretted the loss of the dress but for the first time in her life, she did not worry where the money would come for its replacement.

A knock on the door interrupted her inward musings and Mr. Darcy entered. His own bath plastered his wet curls around his forehead like the ringlets of a babe and Elizabeth immediately rose from her chair to enjoy the new forming intimacy between them.

"Did you strike your head on the shelf above the tub?" Elizabeth asked, standing on her tiptoes to search for a bump as Fitzwilliam instinctively touched the crown of his head.

"Yes! Confounded decoration. How did you know?"

Elizabeth giggled as she pressed an embrace around the man who would be her husband on the morrow. "Betsy warned me when I stood up and as I'm a great deal shorter than you are, I wondered if Simmons would have presence of mind to give you the same."

Darcy scoffed. "He did not possess the same diligence in his duties. I shall have a stern talking to him!" Mr. Darcy said in a tone Elizabeth now understood to be his teasing one. To the unpracticed ear, it sounded a great deal like his normal tone with only the subtle difference of an abundance of seriousness he did not mean. Flashing a devilish smile after his bombastic complaints, a drop of his most practiced social manners he reserved only for the company of his closest friends and family, curtailed any notion of taking the master of Pemberley, Carver, and Darcy Houses seriously.

Yawning, Elizabeth glided over to the bed as Fitzwilliam locked the door and inspected the fire. This far north the air chilled even in summer and he stoked the coals before placing the poker back on the hook. He gave a valid pantomime of looking for a chair suitable for him to sleep in as Elizabeth sat up in the bed and clapped her hands in frustration.

"Oh, do not bother with such ridiculous behavior. Come to bed, Mr. Darcy. Your Elizabeth commands it."

"My Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth sighed and rolled her head from side to side. "I cannot say your wife commands so until tomorrow."

Mr. Darcy froze his progress. "I am so terribly sorry. We should have arrived here much earlier."

"Ah, I see. You must command the Heavens now as well." Elizabeth thoughtfully placed a finger on her chin and tapped. "I did ever so wonder if the Almighty listened more carefully to the wants and wishes of a rich man over a poor one."

Mr. Darcy frowned and veritably launched himself into the bed over Elizabeth's form to her shrieks and giggles before tucking under the blankets to pull her into a snuggled enclosure.

"You, Madam, are blasphemous."

Elizabeth pulled the coverlet up to her chin. "Oh dear, whatever shall be my penance?"

Darcy propped himself up on his elbow and leaned forward to kiss her lips, coaxing her lower one to relax and allow for a deeper exploration to pass between them. His free hand reached over and pressed her lower back against him and Elizabeth moaned, a sound he had heard before and yet always sent his blood coursing through his veins at a much heightened rate.

"Fitzwilliam…" Elizabeth whimpered and silently began to cry. He reached up to wipe a tear from her cheek and leaned forward to kiss her once more in a chaste manner but she pressed further wanting more. "Please, these stirrings are ever so strong…"

Darcy knew what she wanted, he was certain he wanted it more than she. But they were so close to their aims, only one more night stood between them and a marriage with the most respectability he could offer to her.

"Ssh, we've waited this long—"

"And it matters to whom?" she asked angrily.

Darcy closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers. Only the creaks and groans of a night at a public house could be heard at this late hour. He licked his lips as he thought hard about what to say. Finally, he opened his eyes, pulled back, and cupped her face in his hands. He searched her eyes to see the same desire and need he felt burning in his own soul.

"To us. And that's who we answer to. Each other."

Elizabeth frowned and closed her eyes. She tried to turn away from him but his strong hands gently held her face towards his.

The seriousness of the moment cooled both of their ardors as Elizabeth finally opened her eyes and offered Fitzwilliam a small smile.

"Tomorrow?" She asked.

Darcy leaned over and lifted a brass snuffer to douse the candle with his long reach. He settled down in the familiar position that had calmed her nightmares for a number of months.

"Tomorrow."

And here comes the next scene, a big twist, which makes me laugh because a few people called for it. Confession, this next scene was one I knew would happen the very first day I came up with this story idea.

XOXOXO

Elizabeth Ann West


	13. Chapter 13

Starlight began its battle against the rising dawn as the stragglers of the latest Carmichael ball spilled onto London's streets. Men and women well into their cups and beyond exhaustion elbowed and shuffled their way as the line of carriages rounded the block. With most of London's elite at their country homes for the summer, the number of host families dwindled to those with the richest coffers but the greatest stench of trade. George and Georgiana Wickham distinguished themselves as those who arrived at every fête before anyone could accuse them of fashionable lateness and stayed until the last possible moment politeness turned into a trespass.

"You said a week ago we would have the judges and men of importance on our side!" An irritable Georgiana Wickham took her husband to task as he struggled to locate the Darcy carriage that was not his own and looked so much like the other black equipages along the lane.

Wickham reached up for the door of one and a gruff voice behind him complained. George tipped his hat and backed away.

"I beg your pardon, my mistake, my mistake." Wickham grasped his wife's elbow and shuffled her further down the lane as he urged her to be quiet.

"No! I'm so very tired of all of this, George. I want to go to Pemberley!" Georgiana complained even though she had not received a letter from her brother, but expected his response any day.

"I've spoken and shown the ledger to many but no one budges! I can't understand it." Wickham again motioned to a driver who shook his head and the couple continued walking.

Georgiana halted their progress by stopping short. "Do we need more proof? Another investor?" She truly did not fully understand George's business, but she thought that she had heard somewhere that more investors was always a better thing.

George groaned.

"I can't tell who has invested and who has not because many of the names are in code. I've told you this, I must be careful about who I approach."

Georgiana put her hands upon her hips and ignored the sudden realization of how very wide her girth had become.

"What about my brother?"

Wickham scoffed and continued walking to the next carriage to see if it was the one that they brought, but it was not. He called over his shoulder, "He will never invest."

Georgiana began walking again to catch up to her husband. Breathless, she spoke louder than she intended. "But it's silver!"

The next carriage was indeed not theirs and Wickham began to curse under his breath at both his wife's simpleness and the disappearance of their carriage!

"Perhaps Fitzwilliam can help them see reason?" Georgiana offered making George very cross. She stood on the sidewalk as he marched away from her. The carriage before her filled with its rightful owner and began to roll away. George's long legs in addition to his aggravation with his wife carried him two carriages down when the Darcy carriage took the open spot on the lane and pulled up in front of Georgiana. As she accepted the hand of a footman, she called down the street just as a loud crack echoed in the air.

"George?"

She slanted her eyes in the hazy grays of the morning as George seemed to falter and take a step back then suddenly he crumpled to the ground. Georgianna pushed against the footman to let her go and began to run down the sidewalk screaming as loud as she possibly could.

"George!"

***************************  
I almost feel sorry for her. Almost. Remember she is but 16.

XOXOX  
Elizabeth Ann West


	14. Chapter 14

CLANG!

Elizabeth Darcy startled at the sound of the hammer, not knowing the smith would hit anvil in actuality. Fitzwilliam perfunctorily leaned forward to kiss her on the lips but the kiss was so quick and they were pushed forward so another couple could take their place that Elizabeth could hardly think to press the memory of her marriage ceremony into her mind. She knowingly walked forward where Fitzwilliam led her to the waiting Darcy carriage as the trio of vehicles began to roll away before Elizabeth could truly process what had just occurred.

"Do we not sign a book? We are married, yes?" She asked, bewildered, as Darcy waved out the window to a few villagers happy to cry congratulations when a fancy carriage passed, though the direction of the vehicle confused some as most turned around and headed back towards England once the deed was done. The Darcy carriage drove in the opposite direction towards Dumfries.

"The laws are different here. So long as we proclaim it before two witnesses, we are married where the Kirk is concerned."

Elizabeth accepted the happy attentions of her husband as their joy could not be contained though the ceremony was brief and strange to Elizabeth sensibilities. After a dozen kisses and hands free to explore anywhere they wished, Elizabeth pulled back and startled Fitzwilliam with her sudden action similarly to her feelings before the anvil.

"You must be mistaken. You mean to say we could have married last evening just declaring it thus in front of two witnesses?"

Darcy gulped and sat up straighter as layers of Elizabeth naïveté began to fall away.

"By the law, yes, but tradition speaks that you perform this in front of the blacksmith."

Elizabeth's voice took on a pitch half an octave higher than her normal speech. "What tradition? I had no inkling of any such traditions before this day. You denied me a husband yesterday, sir!"

Darcy reached his arm out around Elizabeth but she shrugged it off and so he grasped the top of the cushion. "Our home is but a two-hour drive in Dumfries. I thought you should like to spend your first night as Mrs. Darcy in our own bed."

Elizabeth still pretended to feel miffed, but his thoughtfulness and concern for all details of their life together placed considerable cracks in her resolve.

"And what if you should have died last night in your sleep? What if I died last night in my sleep?" Elizabeth selected the most ridiculous argument to continue her outrage, but even she could to keep a straight face at such an incredulous claim.

Mr. Darcy pulled his arm back and now pretended to be insulted. "I see, you are worried I might have expired before making you a wealthy woman. I did wonder if you are only in it for the riches."

Elizabeth scoffed and lurched across the carriage to sit on the bench opposite Mr. Darcy. She folded her arms across her chest. Fitzwilliam, not willing for his brand-new wife to show such independence, leaned forward and with his long arms scooped her small frame up to lift her and deposit her upon his lap. She squirmed and laughed as he tickled and placed small kisses along the nape of her neck.

"Mr. Darcy!" He did not listen and continued to attack her person with greater ferocity.

"Fitzwilliam! People might see!" He leaned his head back and laughed loudly with his baritone voice vibrating against Elizabeth's side.

"Well let them see! For at least now we can claim to be respectable, my wife."

The happy couple caught their breath but Elizabeth did not leave her newfound seat and instead found the position quite to her liking. She leaned forward before she twisted in his arms and lifted his hat to place it on the bench beside them before tussling his hair as he continued to laugh. Finally, she leaned forward and kissed her husband with all of the love and relief she felt surging through her body. This time, it was Mr. Darcy who groaned.

"Mmm, yes, I find great value in this new status, for it makes you mine," he said.

"And it makes you mine, Mr. Darcy."

As the carriages picked up a little bit of speed on the open road, Mr. Darcy lowered the shades of the carriage to begin acquainting his wife with all the privileges respectability afforded.

****************************

And I now present, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy!

XOXOXO  
Elizabeth Ann West


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: It's a rainy day here in Schenectady, NY. I received some chapters back from a copyeditor, and thought I might post them! :) More eyes are always welcome! XOXOXOX Elizabeth Ann West

********************

The noon sun hung high in the air to bake the city of London with summer's heat. Georgiana Wickham stumbled into Darcy House, thoroughly disheveled, her gown still covered in blood. George's blood.

Mrs. Potter was at the door when the young woman arrived, with her hair so mangled it became knotted on one side. There were no sign of the pretty braids she went out in the night before. Her eyes drooped with exhaustion and reminded the housekeeper of the young woman once recovered in a less horrid state after her elopement with Mr. Wickham.

"Merciful heavens!" Mrs. Potter exclaimed as Georgiana crumpled into the housekeeper's arms, all strength leaving the young woman's body.

The once-young mistress of the house wracked with sobs as Mrs. Potter half-carried, half-dragged both of them to the stairs, where they might sit down less Mrs. Potter fail under the weight of her young charge.

"They killed him. They killed him," Georgiana kept crying out the same phrase.

"Who? Who is dead?" Mrs. Potter had a good idea who might be the victim, but she was still not sure. Young Jack had been missing from the house since the previous evening, but so was Mr. Wickham.

Georgiana looked up at Mrs. Potter, her face tear-streaked. Any tears at all were a remarkable feat, given how many tears she had cried at the Carmichaels' when the Bow Street Runners came for more answers than she could give them.

"My husband! He was shot and now he is dead!" Georgiana's arms cradled the babe growing inside of her womb, wailing as loudly as she could, and even Mrs. Potter joined in the keening for a moment.

More of the staff came rushing to the sound of the females mourning, reminding Mrs. Potter the death of George Wickham was not such a tragedy that she must lose her wits. She managed to regain control, though such an ability eluded Mrs. Wickham.

The housekeeper wiped her eyes and began barking out orders. She ordered a maid to help her take Mrs. Wickham to bed, and sent Stephen to the Hurst townhome as fast as he could run.

"And who am I to ask for there?" the head footman asked drolly, feeling annoyed to be sent on an errand that a kitchen boy or Jack should be sent on.

The housekeeper and maid helped Mrs. Wickham to stand back up on her feet as she continued to sob. They managed a few of the stairs before Mrs. Potter called over her shoulder.

"Miss Bingley, of course! And tell the butler to send expresses to the Master, Colonel Fitzwilliam, and even the Earl of Matlock. Mrs. Wickham must not be alone at this time." Turning back to Georgiana, she used a much more coaxing tone to urge the expectant mother to travel the stairs carefully; she did not wish for the young woman to collapse again. "Easy does it, we are almost there."

Despite the slow progress, the trio reached Mrs. Wickham's normal room, and Mrs. Potter helped the maid undress Mrs. Wickham and tucked her into bed. After administering a small dose of laudanum to help her rest, the maid looked expectantly at the housekeeper; the bloodied gown was still in her hands.

"What shall I do with it? I fear I cannot make it come clean."

Mrs. Potter looked at Georgiana as she fluttered her eyes closed, her golden curls like an angel's spread beautifully on the pillow around her.

She looked sharply at the maid and gave her decision.

"Burn it. Burn it before she wakes."


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Sometimes as an author, you want to communicate certain settings, but it can be tricky on how to handle it. I do not think Mr. and Mrs. Darcy would have waited to tour the house... I know WE wouldn't wait to tour the house if WE had just married Mr. Darcy. HAHAHA! And so, I thought one character who has always intrigued me in this story is Betsy, the young maid the Darcy's thiefed from Netherfield . . . so we arrive at Carver House with her eyes. And McSorley is my grandmother's maiden name. :)

*****************

Elizabeth's personal maid, Betsy, stood frozen in astonishment as she alighted from the carriage just after Mr. Darcy's man, Simmons. Mr. Darcy's valet held little interest in keeping conversation with Betsy throughout the many days of travel they endured in the service of Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. Betsy could only stare at the intricate stone façade that looked almost as if it touched the clouds with Gothic features in every arch, when a sudden bump to her shoulder jostled her from admiring the house further.

"Look alive there; they ain't paying you to look at the windows."

A young lad Betsy did not recognize spoke in a heavy Scottish burr, taking her to task after perceiving she was not seeing to her duties. As a personal maid of Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy, the breach of protocol incensed the promoted housemaid from Netherfield Park.

"They told me this place was called Carver House?"

The boy lifted a trunk of Mrs. Darcy's and hoisted it right to his shoulder, displaying the strength of a Scotsman.

"Careful with that; it holds delicate items," Betsy admonished.

The young man tipped his cap and gave the maid a quick wink. "Aye and, yes, this be Carver House. You daft?"

The bustle of activity swarming the carriages added an element of confusion to Betsy as she realized she held no idea where she was to go. The master and the mistress made a great show of crossing the threshold in a typical fashion for a married couple, and it was quite clear that they intended to retire for the afternoon with no interruptions. Ordinarily, upon arrival Betsy would follow Mrs. Darcy's things up to her rooms and see that they were unpacked with great diligence. But this new need for privacy for Mr. and Mrs. Darcy usurped her normal schedule, and she looked around for Simmons, as if her head was on a swivel.

Timidly, she began to explain to the boy who still stood there holding the trunk.

"Yes, I know; I am not daft. I am Mrs. Darcy's personal maid. Pray, could you show me which way I should go? I believe I have lost Simmons."

A sharp voice interrupted the exchange of information between the two servants.

"There is to be no lollygagging in the drive. Duncan!" A tall woman, with her gray hair pinned tightly behind her and dressed in a plaid frock of cleanly pressed calico, marched down the steps of Carver House...which Betsy still felt looked more like a castle than a home. She stalked straight to them and looked expectantly at the young man, silently demanding him to answer her with her mere presence.

"This here be Mrs. Darcy's maid. She's lost. I best be off to take this to the back." Duncan nodded his head and joined the rest of the footmen unloading the carriages as Mrs. Dolina McSorley inspected the fair-haired English maid. Not finding much to be impressed about, the housekeeper of Carver House sniffed and turned around with her nose in the air, expecting the maid to follow her.

Betsy missed the expectation, and stood for bit longer before Mrs. McSorley yelled out to her.

Remembering her place in the structure Betsy quickly curtsied, and followed the housekeeper into the house through the large wooden doors with the Darcy crest painted in the middle.

"What shall we call you?" The housekeeper continued to walk on as Betsy stumbled upon her own two feet, admiring the mixture of medieval decor and modern sensibilities inside of the home.

"Mrs. Darcy calls me Betsy. So Betsy, if you please."

The housekeeper shook her head and clucked her tongue. "No, that will not do."

"Pardon my impertinence, but if the name is good enough for Mrs. Darcy and what she wishes, then perhaps —" Betsy ceased talking when the housekeeper came to a sudden halt, nearly bumping into the woman. Mrs. McSorley turned on her heel.

"I am not certain what types of houses you are accustomed to serving in, but Carver House keeps traditions above the whims of a new bride who is still learning her way. I've had letters from Potter and Reynolds, and it shall be my task to guide the new Mrs. Darcy in the ways of the Master's ancestors."

Betsy felt utterly confused, as the last name Darcy did not sound particularly Scottish to her, but perhaps French in origin. As if reading her thoughts, the housekeeper continued her walk and began explaining about the ancestry that lined every wall around her.

"Carver House began as a castle, as you might have gathered. Originally a garrison against the English, in the mid-1600s the Carver family, in great service to the Crown, was awarded the garrison away from the shamed Armstrongs."

Betsy gasped as Mrs. McSorley detailed a bloody history filled more with strife than safety in the home's earlier centuries.

"And so, it is Mr. Darcy's great-great-grandfather on his paternal great-grandmother's side who lends the name to the house, but his daughter's marriage to a Darcy that brings the house to the current family. Not the title, however. The earldom died with him."

Betsy nodded and tried to remember all of the information she had been given, as she knew Mrs. Darcy would be most happy to learn about the home's history and how it came to be in her husband's family when they were in private.

"And so I ask you again, girl, what is it we shall call you? This Betsy business is for a housemaid. So long as Mrs. Darcy sees fit to employ you as her personal maid, I need your surname."

Such a simple question brought a wave of homesickness over Betsy. She had grown up in Surrey, but entered service when she was but barely old enough to carry a bucket of ashes. It was only thanks to her uncle taking a position at Netherfield Park that young Betsy Higgins found a position and promotion to housemaid at a small estate in Hertfordshire.

"Higgins. My name is Elizabeth Higgins."

The old housekeeper smiled, as the name suited her just fine. They did not have another Higgins on the estate and, as Mrs. McSorley pushed open a well-worn wooden door with plenty of scuff marks on the bottom and more scratches around the knob than any other door on the hall, Betsy Higgins of Surrey, England received her first taste of the servants area of Carver House.

"Follow me, Higgins, and we will get you some refreshment and rest while your mistress is not in need of your services. And I shall introduce you to the rest of the upstairs staff."

Betsy smiled. Though the decor had made her expect a kitchen frozen from sometime a few centuries ago, like Mr. Darcy's other houses he had taken great pains to update and modify even his least-visited home. Realizing now that she was beneath the housekeeper, as Higgins she would be second in command of the maids, a position she had not thus far needed to take as Mr. and Mrs. Darcy rarely remained in one household longer than a few weeks.

But Scotland was to be different. And if they were to remain here until the fall and perhaps beyond, it was time for her to cast off the carefree ways of Betsy the new personal maid and come into her own, as Mrs. McSorley expected.


	17. Chapter 17

Mrs. Potter paced before the bay windows that faced the street with the most anxiety she had ever held in all her years under Mr. Darcy's employee. She had sent letters to Mrs. Reynolds and to Mrs. McSorley, detailing the dreadful news of the death of George Wickham. She used the household accounts to pay for an express. She had considered sending a letter directly to Mr. Darcy himself but thought such liberty might overstep her bounds as the butler already had, though her heart ached for the utter chaos enveloping the house.

She watched the streets carefully and more than a few passersby turned their heads directly to look at the townhome, as if news of the murder outside the Carmichaels' party had already traveled very quickly. Gasping in relief, she wiped her hands on her skirt as a black carriage pulled up in front of the house and two elegantly-dressed women were helped down from the vehicle. She nearly ran into the butler as he opened the door to allow entry for Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley, and she waved away the formalities as she happily welcomed them into the home.

"Oh, thank you so much, both of you, for coming so soon. We have her resting comfortably upstairs."

Caroline Bingley, the most familiar with Darcy House, nodded pertly in the housekeeper's direction in a way that had once grated on Mrs. Potter's nerves. "Of course we should come right away; this is the most dreadful news. Has Mr. Darcy been alerted?" Caroline immediately jumped to her chief concern, despite her sister placing a hand upon her arm as a reminder for Caro to remain calm. Caroline looked sharply at her sister, and pursed her lips before turning back to the housekeeper with an expectant look.

Mrs. Potter did not miss the exchange between the sisters, and she stumbled over her next words. "I am afraid, that is, it is not my place, you see, to send word to the Master unless Mrs. Wickham instructs me to do so."

Caroline nodded she agreed with the housekeeper's assessment and did her best to hide her glee that it was she who might write the letter to Mr. Darcy herself. As Caroline already began to think of the words and turns of phrases she would use, with any luck he would leave that baggage Elizabeth Bennet in Derbyshire and come rushing home to London.

Both Mrs. Potter and Mrs. Hurst watched Caroline's dreamy expression in the silence, creating an awkwardness before Mrs. Hurst spoke up.

"We shall go up now and see to Mrs. Wickham. Thank you, Mrs. Potter." Louisa practically grabbed Caroline's arm to drag her up the stairs, reminding her to focus on their task at hand.

"Leave off, Louisa!" Caroline hissed.

"What has come into your mind? Mr. Darcy is gone. He is forever cut off from you. Why, they have likely already left for Scotland."

"But you do not know that. My spies at our brother's house have said that Mr. Darcy wanted it to be known they would languish at Pemberley for at least a month's time. You tell me, Louisa. When have you ever known Mr. Darcy to be reluctant in his decisions?" Caroline explained the source of her hope as the two sisters conspiratorially whispered before reaching Mrs. Wickham's door. As Caroline reached forward for the knob, Louisa grabbed her wrist and held Caroline at bay.

"Do not tell me, Caroline, that you had anything to do with this?" Louisa charged.

Caroline made an expression of utter repulsion and yanked her hand away from her elder sister, making a great show to rub where her hand grabbed as though she were significantly injured.

"Whatever can you mean? How on earth would I have anything to do with any of this?" Caroline set her shoulders back and opened the door before descending into the playacting of complete despair as she called out in distress, rushing to Mrs. Wickham's side.

The great sound of a moaning Miss Bingley awakened Georgiana, and she groggily blinked her eyes to make out the form of her friend.

"Caroline?" The sixteen-year-old girl's voice called out softly from her bed.

"Oh, Georgiana, I am here. I am here!" Caroline abandoned her real sister to collapse near the bed, and grasped Georgiana's hand. "How are you, dearest? It must've been incredibly hard to endure what you have. Do you wish to speak about it?" Miss Bingley played the caring friend as Louisa Hurst watched on, still suspicious of her younger sister's motives.

Effortlessly, Caroline Bingley extracted from the half- asleep, half-cognizant Georgiana Wickham that, after the death of her husband, an entire crowd of men grabbed George and her and dragged them into the Carmichaels' house. There, George's personal effects were searched despite her insistence that he receive medical attention, as George moaned and sputtered in pain. But none of the men seemed to care.

Two men had held her back, while she watched George choke for his last breath before lying on the table, motionless and still. The men had yelled amongst themselves about the documents they found but Georgiana kept screaming and screaming, until finally the two men who were holding her dragged her out of the room entirely and she was forced to sit in Mr. Carmichael's study as more men she did not recognize came in to question her.

"And what kinds of questions did they ask? Do they have a suspect?" Miss Bingley pressed.

Georgiana seemed to come out of a fog as she looked more coherently at Miss Bingley. "No; have you not been listening to anything I have said? They did not care that he was killed. None of them. No one fetched the doctor, no one cared for my comfort. All they cared about was the papers."

Caroline sighed, and reached up to brush Georgiana's hair back off of her forehead as Mrs. Hurst approached the bed. Louisa Hurst knew the behavior Georgiana described was the customary response to the death of a common criminal. She knew Mr. Wickham involved himself in various nefarious schemes, but for such behavior to be done so brazenly in their social group, as much as the Carmichaels might be described as such, worried Louisa. Gently, she asked a question of her own.

"Do you remember them saying anything about the papers they found on your husband? Anything at all that we might ask Mr. Hurst to follow up on?"

Georgiana bit her lower lip, and winced as a sudden pain shot across her abdomen. She cried out.

Caroline and Louisa looked at each other in great alarm as Louisa realized Georgiana was with child. Louisa brushed Caroline aside, and took her younger sister's place as she comforted Georgiana and ordered Caroline to find a glass of wine.

Another pain came across Georgiana and she sucked in her breath, but then relaxed as it was not so severe as the last one.

"Less?" Mrs. Hurst inquired as she noticed the second pain, and Georgiana nodded her head. Louisa handed Georgiana the goblet of wine after helping her to sit up in the bed. Louisa's eyes traveled down to the burgeoning bump in Mrs. Wickham's midsection, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

"You must rest. With any luck, these pains are just in passing and will ease as your distress calms."

"I will not lose the babe?" Georgiana asked, suddenly fearful of losing the one possession she cared the most about.

Mrs. Hurst shook her head. "It is unlikely in the state you are in, but these pains, shocking as they are, sometimes are a good sign of the babe's health and yours. Still, you should remain in bed and let Caroline and me address your needs."

"Yes, Louisa, will you send notes to the house for my things to be brought here? I could not dream of leaving Georgiana in her time of need." Miss Bingley invited herself to stay at Darcy House, much like she had in the past, and again the young woman appreciated her friend's forwardness.

"Caroline, are you sure that's such a good idea?" Louisa tried to caution her younger sister, but Caroline would have none of it.

"Mr. Darcy himself placed me to oversee the care of his sister when he left this town with our brother. Did you forget?" Caroline snapped, and Louisa backed off, never one to endure conflict as comfortably as Caroline.

Louisa left Georgiana and her sister to their own devices and decided a better use of her time would be to ask Mrs. Potter what she knew of the situation before writing to her husband. The news of George Wickham's death was entirely dreadful, but the manner in which his murder happened in practically broad daylight, without so much as a care for his survival, made Mrs. Hurst wonder if his widow was even safe.

************  
Hmmm, who wanted George Wickham dead? DUN, DUN, DUNNNNN!

okay, back to the love birds next! As always, your comments and reviews inspire me, and if you see anything wonky, speak up, and I will make sure it's fixed in the final.

XOXOXO  
Elizabeth Ann West


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: I will not deny you zero glimpses of our honeymooning couple! Enjoy!

XOXOX  
Elizabeth Ann West

*************************

The privileges of becoming Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy included waking up each morning next to the man. Elizabeth rubbed the sandy remnants of slumber from her eyes. She stretched her form as the new business of being a wife meant also waking to a delightful soreness reminding her of the passions they shared in the evening. Blinking her eyes, she startled to see Fitzwilliam sitting up in the bed and gazing down upon her.

"How long have you been awake?" Elizabeth asked as she turned to her right side and took a deep breath.

"I've always been an early riser. It makes for a rather fatiguing afternoon." Mr. Darcy leaned forward to kiss Lizzie upon her temple as she closed her eyes and smiled.

Then she yawned.

"Pardon me; I am, too. I'm often an early riser, but I'm afraid you have seen me only at my worst."

Her husband shook his head.

"No, it is true! First I was recovering, and then suffering nightmares, and now..." she tilted her chin down as she began to blush.

"Now you have a tiresome husband to wear you out at night."

The happy couple shared a laugh before Fitzwilliam pushed away and left the bed. Elizabeth sat up to follow his lead, but he held up his hands to indicate for her to stay.

"I have a gift for you. I meant to give it to you last night, but I'm afraid most of my plans for the evening went by the wayside."

Elizabeth remained seated in the bed, but pulled the sheets up to her chest as she thoroughly enjoyed the view of Mr. Darcy walking bare-chested in her suite of rooms with nothing but his breeches on. She admired the angular structure of his muscles as he bent down to pull something in a velvet case out of a low drawer.

Though they did take a break to enjoy a dinner in her rooms, their time since arriving at Carver House had been full of activity. Mr. Darcy had paused after carrying her over the threshold and offered a quick tour of the home, but Elizabeth declined. A claim she needed a rest was all the inducement the newly-married man needed to take his wife to bed.

Despite his unwavering love for his bride he could not spare her slight discomfort the first time they joined, but with a bit of rest and refreshment, they both found the second and third coupling much more to their mutual satisfaction.

Darcy approached the bed and held the folded velvet case out for Elizabeth's acceptance. She felt surprised at the weight of the gift as she carefully placed it upon her lap and untied the white ribbon holding the two sides together. When she unrolled the velvet fabric from the center, a sparkling set of sapphires and a teardrop pendant with matching earrings and combs lay in a perfect presentation. Elizabeth gasped.

"Fitzwilliam, these are beautiful!" She jerked her head to look at her husband, who grinned sheepishly.

"If you remember the last time, I was not able to be present for you to find your gift. But if you are to react like that each time," he leaned over the bed and supported his upper body with his arms to give his wife a kiss, "I believe I shall feel compelled to give you a gift every morning."

Elizabeth laughed at his boast, privately hoping he would never do such a thing. A wedding gift from her husband on the first morning of their marriage perfectly suited her. But daily gifts? That was an extravagance she did not feel she could bear.

"Let's see if it fits," he suggested, and Elizabeth panicked as she realized she must look a fright. Still, she assisted him by lifting her long tresses that she imagined to be hopelessly tangled into a mess.

"This set belonged to my great-grandmother, the first Carver to become a Darcy, and they are the rightful jewels for the mistress of this home."

As he clasped the heavy necklace to lay fetchingly across her breastbone, he could not help but feel a surge of emotion that made his face as still as stone. Elizabeth knew the man well enough to tell when his silence derived out of self-preservation, much like his nostril twitched when he told a falsehood. She took pity on him and gazed down at the stones.

"The blue is so remarkable, I've never seen a stone with so many hues, from the color of ink to indigo."

"Just like the sea, as they were designed to depict." Darcy's finger delicately stroked the golden filigree cresting like waves over the smaller stones around the large pendant in the middle.

"This must have been a favorite of your mother's." Elizabeth recalled the painting of Lady Anne Darcy in the private sitting room, but Fitzwilliam frowned.

"She never wore them."

"She did not? But why?" Elizabeth's curiosity was innocently meant, but she still realized how rude it might sound after the words tumbled from her tongue.

Her husband rocked back to sit further away and looked up at the ceiling, as if reading the intricately casted plaster up there would give him answers.

"Do you know the dowry of Miss Caroline Bingley?"

Elizabeth scowled, not finding a mention of Miss Bingley to be at all a person she wished to speak about on her first morning as a married woman.

"How on earth should I know such a detail as that?" she retorted.

"Mmm, pardon me." He returned his gaze to his wife, embarrassed as she arched an eyebrow for explanation. "In London, everyone seems to know all about everyone." He cleared his throat. "Such as my—"

"Ten thousand a year," she finished, looking away with a blush. Of course, in his society, the subject of money and worth was shared as freely as the hindquarter measurements of a racing horse.

"My sister's dowry is £30 000."

"And Miss Bingley's is . . ."

"£20 000."

"Oh." Elizabeth tried to piece together this intelligence, rather confused as she knew her husband's net worth to be considerably more than Mr. Bingley's. Then, with that thought, suddenly she began to understand. Her mouth dropped slightly as she pulled the sheets even tighter around her for comfort as she prepared herself for Fitzwilliam's tale.

When his own grandmother had been Mistress of Carver House, there had been need to replace the sapphires with paste stones. The many wars of the Crown had decimated the coffers of the ever-loyal Carver and Darcy families, to the point of near ruin. It was the shrewd business sense of his father that his family even held on to Pemberley and Carver, the house in Grosvenor Square bought from another family that was not so lucky.

"And so your father gave your sister a modest dowry."

Darcy laughed.

"Well, not so modest as mine." Elizabeth again felt her cheeks begin to burn.

"No, no, do not fear that I meant to judge your family. But, yes, for my sister's status as my sister, her settlement represented my family's holdings at the time of her birth; before our success in India, and based primarily on my mother's own settlement."

Elizabeth's head began to ache as such dreary talk of finances before she'd had even a proper meal took its toll. Her stomach grumbled in agreement, and Fitzwilliam began to panic.

"What a brute am I, holding my wife captive in bed!" he exclaimed to lighten the mood, which made Elizabeth lean forward and meet his person with affection. He accepted her surprise invitation in an affable way, and listened as she whispered how much she loved his gift.

When at last they realized neither one could possibly forgo food any longer, they reluctantly dressed and left her rooms.

"After we break our fast, I believe I would like to take you up on that tour of the house. I wish to learn more about your family."

"You mean you will not insist on discovering each nook and cranny for yourself?" Mr. Darcy led his wife down the stairs to the ornate entryway below.

"Oh no, I'm certain the staff here have been warned of my mischievous ways. I must be sure to behave properly in all things, so as to catch them off guard."

He smiled at his wife's logic, and sighed in complete happiness when she looped her arm in his and waited for him to show her the way to the dining room.


	19. Chapter 19

A/N: I added a line in the final draft of the previous chapter to make it clear that Mr. Darcy did replace the stones. LOL. The difference in dowries was something I stumbled upon, and stuck out to me that Georgiana and Mrs. Bingley should not be so close in amounts... so I made it a plot point. :) The next few scenes make me happy cry every time I have to edit them :) Enjoy!

XOXOXO  
Elizabeth Ann West

***********************************

Kitty Bennet stared in disgust at her sketchpad with a frown on her face. Since moving to Netherfield Park, her brother Bingley and sister Jane had been kind enough to establish a sitting room on the east side of the home as her art studio. Many of her canvases of watercolors and sketches lined the walls in various states of completion. The room provided an ample amount of light in the early morning hours when she preferred to draw. But the sketch in her hands utterly failed to capture the violent violets and crimson reds of the west garden she had been most keen to record. Aggravated, she crumpled the offending piece of work and threw it over her shoulder without a second glance.

The door to her studio burst open, and the crumpled sketch sailed through the air striking poor Mr. Bingley on the top of his head, but being paper, caused no injury. The door opening caused Kitty to turn around and she gasped as Mr. Bingley stood there white as a sheet.

"It is time – what I mean to say is, Jane so desperately needs you?"

Kitty scrambled to follow her brother by marriage across the house to her sister's suite. By the time they arrived, Kitty felt slightly warmed from the exercise.

Heavy with child, Jane Bingley had taken to her bed over two months ago from complications of carrying the child. Even now, if it was indeed time, the babe was trying to come nearly a month early. Kitty followed Mr. Bingley's long stride with a scurried step of her own, anxious to get to Jane's side.

They reached Jane just as she cried out during another contraction. Her maid stood grimacing holding the hand of her mistress, and when it had passed, Kitty silently took the servant's place to listen to her older sister's demands.

"I need Aunt Phillips. Please send for her." Just a thin line of perspiration outlined Jane's forehead as a combination of the days since her last bath and the effort her body made to birth a child plastered her golden locks to her skin.

"What about Mama? Surely you need Mama." Kitty asked.

Jane was about to answer when another contraction distracted her and Kitty felt her hand squeezed so tightly that it was almost as if her sister meant to transfer the pain from her body to another.

The housekeeper entered the room with the confidence of a great general. Two maids carrying arms full of white linens marched behind her, and she quickly took over from Kitty to begin preparations in the room for the birth of a child.

"I sent a messenger Miss Catherine to your aunt and uncle in Meryton. They should arrive soon."

"And Mr. Jones?" Poor Bingley called out still holding on to the doorframe for support.

The housekeeper appeared to notice her master for the first time and clucked her tongue in disapproval. "Yes, and Mr. Jones." She addressed Kitty directly. "Perhaps you should help your brother find a suitable place to wait. Firstborn sons have a tendency to take their sweet time in arriving." The housekeeper's piece of intelligence was heard by Jane who uncharacteristically cried out at such news as the beginning pains already wore on her nerves.

Kitty looked to Jane for approval, and her sister nodded. "Please look after Charles. And there's a letter in my nightstand–"

"Oh, please do not speak of that! We all know, but there will be no need," Kitty declared, rather indignantly, as she had begun her progress towards the door and gently nudged her brother-in-law to follow her out the door.

After Kitty helped Mr. Bingley to the study downstairs and declined his awkward offer of a drink, she seized the butler's attention in the hall and gave him instructions to sit with Mr. Bingley.

"I beg your pardon, Miss Catherine. You wish that I should stay?"

Kitty looked to Charles who stood by the fireplace absentmindedly sipping from his drink and looking crazed with the reality of the mortal danger threatening his wife. Kitty's heart broke to see such romance between two people, but she also knew what she had to do.

"Yes. And if he tries to leave this room, tackle him. Keep him here, and I will be back as soon as I can." Kitty turned around to begin to leave as the butler called after her asking where she was going. But Kitty did not respond. She would head back to her rooms to collect her spencer and bonnet as she called for the carriage to be ready by the front door. Jane was not thinking clearly and though she appreciated the love and support of Aunt Phillips, the truth of the matter was that their aunt had never successfully carried a child to term.

But one woman Kitty knew had successfully birthed five daughters. And Kitty would not rest until she took the carriage to Longbourn and brought their mother back to help Jane.


	20. Chapter 20

A lazy afternoon in her bed became rudely interrupted as Mr. Darcy continuously tickled the tip of his wife's nose until she woke. Elizabeth stretched and yawned, once more waking very contentedly in her new role as Mrs. Darcy, and blinked numerous times to spy her husband and focus.

"Fitzwilliam, I was having the most beautiful dream." Elizabeth kept all of the details to herself, though he peppered her with questions. "Oh, no, I shall never tell. But it was a most happy dream and you were in it."

He left the bed as Elizabeth sat up to reach for the bell cord.

"Before you call your maid, I have yet another gift."

Elizabeth tucked her knees up to her chin as she looked at him askance.

"Another one?" She laughed. "You do realize a spoiled wife is a heavy burden to live with, sir."

"And are you spoiled? Or have I bestowed upon you the exact amount of respect and adoration that you deserve?"

Elizabeth blew out a breath. She began to feel that her cheeks might permanently hurt from how much the man made her smile. "I suppose when you speak of it like so, who am I to argue with the great intelligence of Fitzwilliam Darcy?"

"Who indeed." Mr. Darcy turned around and pulled a box from the top of the dresser to carry it over to the bed. When Elizabeth did not reach for it, he nudged it more and more, while she continued to laugh at his antics. But there was no denying that, since their arrival in Scotland and wedding at the anvil, Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy no longer looked like the burdened, anxious man of eight and twenty with the entire world upon his shoulders. Their wedding trip had succeeded in taking no less than five years off the expressions he regularly gave to his wife.

Elizabeth pulled the box into her lap, once more surprised by the weight and size of the package. As she struggled to untie the twine, Mr. Darcy pulled a penknife from his pocket and reached forward to cut the string entirely.

"Thank you, my dear."

"My pleasure, my darling." Darcy licked his lips, as, though he stood fully dressed, Elizabeth was not. And though he enjoyed their passionate pursuits in the bedroom, there was far more his estate in Scotland had to offer that he wished to share with his Elizabeth.

Elizabeth gasped, looked up at her husband, held up the clothing in her hands, and then squealed.

"Truly? I did so enjoy our time at Netherfield, and you remembered?" She pinched her lips into a saucy pout as her husband gave her a sheepish grin.

"This is why I wished to give it to you before you called your maid. I did not wish for you to waste time fussing into a gown when I would like to invite you to join me in a bout down in the ballroom."

Elizabeth frowned, and her husband asked what made her suddenly unhappy. But Elizabeth waved her hand.

"Oh, it is nothing. A small matter of household management. Apparently, I am to refer to my personal maid as Higgins instead of Betsy."

Darcy shrugged. "I call my man 'Simmons.'"

Elizabeth frowned. "Yes, that may be very well and good for men, but a lady's maid is something entirely altogether different."

"If you say so; I shall defer to your expertise. But I have found that there are times when I hold more power in allowing the servants and staff their way on things rather than merely imposing my will at every instance."

"But I've always called her Betsy! It will be extremely awkward to call her Higgins." Elizabeth realized she began to sound like a petulant child, and that there was a great deal to be said for the traditions of an older house like Carver. And yet, the very idea of calling her personal maid Higgins felt foreign and distasteful.

"Did you consider also that in continuing to call her Betsy you do your personal maid a disservice because you are not honoring the promotion and status that you granted her?"

As they continued to speak about the maid business, Elizabeth pulled the covers back and began to don the fencing costume that Fitzwilliam had gifted her. She pulled on a fresh chemise and tucked the skirt into the short trousers, as the rough cotton did not feel as if it would be ideal against her skin. He lifted her coat and assisted her into the jacket that fastened in the back. As he hooked her buttons, Elizabeth giggled as she counted her blessings to be married to a man with a younger sister. She wondered how many times he had assisted the young Georgiana with her dress as, though there was no doubt that the Darcy siblings had many on staff, any child was likely to have a costume difficulty when out playing. She and her sisters had mended each other's clothes and buttons many a time.

"Perhaps, as a compromise, I can call her Higgins when others are in the room, but ask if she wouldn't mind me calling her Betsy when we are in private."

Darcy tugged on the top of the coat to pull the slack towards the back, which caused Elizabeth to jostle and step backwards. "Do you believe your maid will be honest with you as to her wishes?"

"I believe so. Did you know that I did ask her specifically if she would mind continuing in my service even though we were to elope?"

"While it is obvious she answered in the affirmative, did she express any concerns?" Darcy finished his work and walked around to the front of his wife so that he could spy her beautiful female form in the fetching tightness of the fencing costume.

Elizabeth sighed and walked over to the full-length mirror to admire her new attire. She pulled her fisted hand up as though it held the blade to the side and up in front of her face, remembering the salute that Mr. Darcy had taught her just two months ago.

"She did, though not rudely." Elizabeth's eyes shifted focus to his reflection behind her, and she offered him an impish smile. "You, sir, are out of order. Here I am, dressed for a bout, and you are still playing the gentleman."

Mr. Darcy walked forward and snaked his arm around his wife's midsection to cradle her in the mirror's reflection. His left hand reached out and pulled the bell cord the appropriate times to summon Higgins, as his wife was not completely accurate that she was fully ready. Her hair still fell in long free tresses of dark curls and her feet were entirely barefoot. But Mr. Darcy did not point out these minor details, and instead brushed his wife's hair back so that he could kiss her neck and then rest his chin upon her shoulder.

"Your challenge is accepted, madam. I will go see my man and meet you down in the ballroom in ten minutes' time. En guard!"

"See that you do." Elizabeth laughed at her own impertinence. A quick knock on her door and then opening of the same revealed Higgins present and ready to help her. As Mr. Darcy left the room, Elizabeth considered her personal maid.

"There is a small matter I should like to discuss with you, if you do not mind." Suddenly, Elizabeth felt a sharp pain in her midsection that disappeared just as suddenly. Higgins reached out with concern for her mistress, but Elizabeth waved her off.

"No, no, I am fine. It came as quickly as it went." Elizabeth took a breath and waited for more pain, such as a sign of her courses coming, or that food did not agree with her, but no further pain came. She thought briefly of her family, of her sisters, and especially Jane, but pushed the melancholy of missing them aside as she forced herself to smile.

"See? Nothing to worry about, I must have merely moved in a silly fashion. But I did want to ask you . . ."

Betsy looked at her mistress expectantly, eager to please. Elizabeth faltered in what she wanted to say noticing that Betsy held an expression of pride and confidence she did not hold before.

"Would you be willing to put my hair into two plaits down the side and pinned in the back? I believe the mask will fit more securely that way," Elizabeth gulped, "Higgins."

Betsy agreed and retreated to the dressing room to fetch stockings and shoes and hair pins, while Elizabeth looked back at her own reflection. Standing so small in her white costume, her hair flowing freely, she emulated a warrior in spirit. She had her champion, and she wouldn't mention to him how much she missed her family. It was be a burden she would not add to his shoulders when they had become so recently freed.

**************************  
True story: My mother's twin sister knew when my mother was in labor with me because she felt pains in another state, and the same thing happened to me and my sister that I am closest to in age when I had my daughter. It's a little bit of a freaky phenomenon that I know has happened in more than one family, and I wanted to capture it in this book. Teehee.

XOXOXO  
Elizabeth Ann West


	21. Chapter 21

Kitty Bennet hardly had to convince her mother that she was needed at Netherfield Park before Mrs. Bennet joined her daughter in the waiting carriage. Kitty answered as many questions as she could as to the condition of Jane, but found none of them seemed to satisfy her mother's inquiries. To her greatest relief, her mother did not display a fit of nerves or fuss in a high-pitched voice but showed a remarkable sense that Kitty had rarely seen in her mother.

Upon entering the foyer, Kitty spied that 's study door was open and the butler, Mr. Higgins, stood in the hall.

"I thought I told you to keep him away?" Jane's screams filled the air as Kitty and her mother did not wait for a response from the butler before dashing up the stairs to the mistress suite.

The screams had traveled throughout the house because the door to her rooms was wide open with a pale, thunderstruck Mr. Bingley standing not three steps into the room. Mrs. Bennet practically pushed Mr. Bingley out of the way as she bustled to the bed where her sister Phillips and the housekeeper already saw to Jane.

"There, there, your Mama is here."

"Fanny, what are you doing here?" Lynn Phillips, the elder sister of Mrs. Bennet, chastised her presence against Mrs. Bingley's wishes.

"I might say the same for you, dear sister. This is my daughter. If anyone should have a right to be in this room–"

Jane cried out again bringing the simpered sympathies of both women.

Through clenched teeth, Jane issued her edict.

"Do not argue!"

She followed with another cry as the contractions refused to lessen.

Mrs. Bennet finally took stock of the situation and realized Jane's midsection was entirely too large for one babe. Her eyes widened and her sister Phillips clasped her forearm in solidarity.

"Twins?"

Mrs. Phillips nodded.

Jane's next scream brought a change to the situation and a flurry of activity. The housekeeper began to drape sheets over Jane's knees and encourage her to prop them up. Mrs. Bennet began calling for hot water despite her sister's insistence that such an order was already given and a basin of water stood there on top of the bureau.

"No, no, this is entirely not enough. If there are two babes to come, we need double of everything!"

"It is enough, sister. You are distressing, Jane. Besides, you never carried twins."

"Neither did you, successfully!" Mrs. Bennet's harshness stung Lynn Phillips's sensibilities, but Francine Bennet immediately apologized as Jane screamed again.

Mrs. Phillips sniffed. "This is not the time of the place to discuss the past. Come, Jane, rally through! You are healthy and young. If anyone can do this, you can!"

Kitty's eyes opened wide as she realized that the first babe was on the precipice of being born when she grabbed Mr. Bingley and pulled hard. "Mr. Bingley you must come with me. Jane would not like you to see her this way."

"But my wife!"

"We have her under our care, Mr. Bingley." Mrs. Bennet's tone clashed with Jane's yells as she, too, shooed Mr. Bingley away as though Jane's inconvenience was a minor trifle. "Go with Kitty, and begin the letters. We shall fill in the details once we have them."

For what he was worth, Mr. Higgins stood in the hall and eagerly assisted Kitty in once more removing Mr. Bingley from the birthing room. With the heavy oak door shut, Jane's cries became muffled, and emotion began to overwhelm Mr. Bingley. His knees buckled and Mr. Higgins was the steady arm that caught the man before he collapsed in the hallway.

Catherine Bennet rolled her eyes and wished she had brought Lydia with her when she fetched Mama. If anyone could bring silliness and frivolity to the anxious business of birthing children, it was Lydia. Instead, Kitty would have to make do with her own abilities, and so she came up with an alternative plan.

"Bring him to my studio; we won't keep him occupied in his study. But I can show him paintings and keep him calm, and perhaps I'll even sketch as he will be an excellent subject for study."

"Yes, Miss." Mr. Higgins nodded as he agreed greatly with Ms. Catherine's plan. All of the staff at Netherfield deeply respected the Bennet sisters and did not miss one bit the demands and tantrums of the Bingley set.

At first, Mr. Bingley could do little more than lay upon the couch and worry for his dear Jane. But as Kitty began to show him comedic sketches she had captured of the two of them, and a landscape she had painted, soon the screams of Jane Bingley which could not be heard in the separate wing where Kitty's studio lay, relieved Mr. Bingley of some of his anxiousness. A few times, Mr. Bingley looked furtively at the door, but each time Kitty coaxed him into looking back at the art.

"My sister has the best attendants for her labor and delivery. I promise they all shall be well." Kitty held Mr. Bingley's hands with the love of a sibling.

"How can you be sure?"

Kitty shrugged her shoulders. "My mother is there and if anyone gets her way more than her, I have never met them."


	22. Chapter 22

The prophecy of Catherine Bennet came true as an exhausted and pale Jane Bingley presented Charles Bingley with an introduction to his children. Despite her exhaustion, both babes had been laid swaddled in each arm of the young mother as Mr. Bingley was finally allowed back into his wife's room after the bloodied sheets had long been cleared. Mr. Jones had arrived, late as usual, but already examined both babes and the mother, and found all to be satisfactorily recovering. Mrs. Bennet declared such a result beyond obvious, and she worked to repair the damage she had done with her older sister in the moment of Jane's distress.

For his part, Charles Bingley stood awestruck at the beautiful vision of his angel with two other angels beside her. He gawked a moment, wishing to impress in his mind that image forevermore. He continually rubbed his chin until finally Jane noticed her husband standing there and offered him a weak smile.

"Your children are anxious to meet you, Charles."

Jane's voice acted as a siren's call and snapped Mr. Bingley out of his stupor. He rushed to the bed and quickly sat down, but then panicked that his sudden movements might hurt Janie, but she shook her head. Without ceremony, she lifted her left arm up and deposited one of the children in Mr. Bingley's arms as he stammered and protested such a sudden use of his role as father.

"I shall drop it!"

"No, you will not. She is too light to drop." Jane used her now-free arm to more securely hold the second babe that remained with her.

"She?" Mr. Bingley asked, his eyes suddenly glistening over with tears as he looked down at his daughter's face. "She is so beautiful."

The babe, as if understanding her father's voice, yawned and suddenly blinked open her beautiful brown eyes. Mr. Bingley gasped and then smiled and looked up at Jane. He cocked his head in the direction of the second child. "And her?"

Jane shook her head.

"This is your son. I thought we should name him Charles."

Mr. Bingley looked at Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Philips standing at the foot of the bed, watching the young family learn of each other. Mr. Bingley gulped and agreed.

"Our little chap will be a Charlie!" he decreed to the room's hearty congratulations and agreement as to the way to differentiate between the son and the father.

After the many congratulations on having a son, Mr. Bingley frowned as a reminder of another child who deserved such cheer lay comfortably in his arms.

"And what about our little Miss? What shall we name you?" Mr. Bingley looked down at his daughter as if expecting a reply, but it was Jane who spoke out.

"Her name is to be Lynn." Jane looked fiercely at her Aunt Phillips, who had provided her weeks upon weeks of support. She was the only one in the family to understand how difficult it was to carry two children into the world, though none of Aunt Phillips' twins survived the birthing process. The Phillipses had suffered the stillborn deaths of two sets and another child before they had given up on having children of their own.

Lynn Phillips began to cry, and clasped her handkerchief to her chest as her sister Fanny embraced her. Mr. Bingley, sensing his wife's whispered request, took a deep breath and carefully stood with his daughter in his arms. As if learning to walk for the first time, the man took his steps ever so slowly and presented his daughter to her namesake.

This action allowed Mrs. Bennet to release her sister, and Lynn Phillips accepted the babe and pulled her close to kiss her forehead. Young Lynn, for her part, let out a little cry at being moved around again, but soon settled and cooed when her great-aunt began speaking to her.

"You shall have a bright future, little Lynn Bingley. And I shall make sure that you have the most beautiful ribbons and bonnets ever to be made."

Mr. Bingley chuckled at Aunt Phillips as she continued to coo over her great-niece, and Mrs. Bennet walked forward to reach her arms out to hold her first grandson. Jane handed the baby to her mother, as Mr. Bingley walked around the two women of the older generation fussing over the babies, and comforted his wife.

Jane Bingley leaned her head against her husband's shoulder as he sat next to her in the bed, and she sighed. Charles reached down and grasped his wife's hand, holding it with great care before bringing it up to his lips to press a kiss to the back of it. He tilted his head towards his wife before he spoke.

"You are a remarkable woman, Jane Bingley. Our children are ever so lucky to have you as a mother."

Jane weakly squeezed his hand and then announced that she must feed the children, to her mother's objections.

"Mr. Bingley, you cannot let poor Jane weaken herself further. You must call for a wet nurse!"

"Mama, it is already settled. Aunt Phillips helped me find a young girl in the village and she is already here to help as wet nurse. But I intend to nurse both of my children myself for as long as I am able." Obediently, Mrs. Phillips began to walk forward to bring Lynn to her mother, when Mrs. Bennet began to fuss once more.

"Surely, the boy must be fed first!"

"Fanny, he will not starve. Lynn was born first by nearly an hour. Feed them in the order in which they were birthed."

"But the boy!" Mrs. Bennet continued to argue until Mr. Bingley kissed his wife's temple, and then rose from the bed two addres his mother-in-law directly.

"Mrs. Bennet, may I have the pleasure of holding my son for the first time?" Mrs. Bennet could hardly argue with this, and begrudgingly handed the child to his father.

Charles Bingley looked at his son as Aunt Phillips assisted Jane in sitting up to feed their daughter, but young Charlie merely slept.

"You can sit with me, can't you, lad, while your mum tends to your sister?" Finding a chair on the far side of the room, Charles Bingley walked with his son as he asked Mrs. Bennet for a small favor.

"I wonder if you might help Kitty with the announcements? And I shall stay here and make sure both children are well taken care of." Mr. Bingley laughed, as Mrs. Bennet could never say no to him, and the flustered woman did manage to require her sister to go with her.

Charles held the slumbering Charlie in his arms and looked up at Janie to see her smiling at them. He returned the smile, similar to the same smiles they exchanged once upon an assembly night. But this time the smiles exchanged were full of so much love and admiration than either thought possible to feel.

Together, they had doubled the size of their family and relished the joy such work brought. Charles whispered a small prayer as he looked back down at his Charlie that the Good Lord continue to look after and provide for his family. He may not be a man with all the riches in the kingdom, but as a new father he felt wealthier than ever before.

Yep, so sweet and so cute, the Bingley babies are here! I wonder is Elizabeth Darcy is going to be able to overcome her homesickness when she learns she is a new aunt? Hmmmmmmm :)


	23. Chapter 23

"I cannot pretend to approve of her as my successor," the Countess of Matlock sourly issued her opinion as her husband entered her suite of rooms at Alnwick Castle. Although the marriage ceremony took place that morning, the earl still felt compelled to shush his wife and her harsh words.

"Whatever on earth are you afraid of, Henry? The deed is done, and while you may have had an entire lifetime to get to know your heir, I find a shocking lack of substance in the new Lady Brahmington." Margaret Fitzwilliam lifted the silver hairbrush from the vanity and pulled it tersely through her locks. Her personal maid had been dismissed until it was time to dress for the evening. She had done an admirable job of preparing her mistress for the period of rest before the evening's ball to celebrate the arranged marriage between two ancient families, but the countess wished for employment to distract her from her anger.

"We must not be too hasty; until he gets her with child the ink on the registry book is hardly dry. A dispatch did leave for London to release the loan, so at least His Grace has kept his word in that regard."

Margaret Fitzwilliam scoffed, and whirled around on the stool in front of the vanity.

"Surely you're jesting?" she confronted her husband.

Henry Fitzwilliam made an expression of confusion, and his wife's mouth turned into a teasing smile. "Tell me," she pressed the hairbrush thoughtfully against the palm of her free hand, "did you not find it odd that the marriage contract explicitly spelled out Lady Brahmington's personal maid is to travel with them at all times and may not be dismissed without consent of her ladyship?"

Henry Fitzwilliam stammered as he grumbled something unintelligible, and his wife asked him to repeat his remark.

"I should find it not so strange the young woman wishes familiarity to follow her in a new life as a young bride."

The earl removed his boots as a signal to his wife that he intended to rest with her before the ball. Margaret smiled as Henry struggled to unbutton his own vest and remove the garment that was rather snug around his broad shoulders.

"I believe that we might not be the only parents relieved to find a match for our child beyond the ballrooms of London."

As Henry Fitzwilliam lowered himself onto the bed, he winced and clasped his right side. The sharp pain just below his rib cage reminded him of his years as his wife spoke glibly of successors; he found the topic rather too morbid for his tastes.

"Should I call for the doctor?" The countess showed genuine concern for her husband of over two decades.

"No, no, you did warn me to cease eating the duck."

"It does not always agree with you." Lady Matlock joined her husband on the tightly-strung mattress and wiggled to find a comfortable position in the bed still not quite a favorite despite them being guests of the Percy family for many weeks. Just as her breathing began to regulate, his digestive attack subsided and her husband recalled another subject matter he wished to speak about to his wife.

"Your mentioning of the odd contract reminds me. I meant to speak with you about George Wickham."

Lady Matlock made a slight groan, as she did truly wish to take a rest and found her husband's subject matter most tiresome. "What has Georgiana's husband to do with anything?"

"Do you recall the dinner where Lord Hampton would not cease talking about his race horses? T'was the night the duchess dropped her wineglass."

Lady Matlock fully groaned and finally turned to her husband, giving up on finding a period of rest before their continued social requirements that evening. The schedule of activities and pleasure for most of London's elite had worn her down beyond her years.

"It was the same evening I was stuck sitting next to Lady Iris, who spent the majority of the meal breaking wind in a most foul manner without sound so as not to require any pardons. But the stench was so great that, when we separated after the meal, I merely excused myself for the night."

"Yes, I came to you from the billiard room but you had already retired for the evening and I did not wish to disturb you. And then I forgot–"

"Well, for heaven's sake, tell me now before you forget again." Margaret Fitzwilliam challenged her husband to bring him back to the point at hand.

"Did you know Darcy visited His Grace at Syon House and made some sort of arrangement concerning George Wickham?"

Margaret Fitzwilliam felt a digestive attack of her own that had nothing to do with what she had eaten, but what she knew of George Wickham's lineage. "Henry, what if the duke takes an interest in Mr. Wickham?"

Henry rubbed his chin as he struggled to understand his wife's drift. "That was the thing, he asked me if I could confirm Wickham's parents. I thought it was common knowledge he was de Bourgh's bastard, but no one takes an interest in such natural children so wholly unconnected to them."

"George Wickham's mother is Hugh Percy's sister-in-law, the late Elizabeth Burell." Lady Matlock watched her husband cringe as, though he was not as gifted in strategy as she, he was no simpleton either.

"Oh dear, if he learns—"

"We must leave for London at once," Margaret Fitzwilliam pronounced as she rose from the bed. "And we must write to Darcy. I do not want to make the same mistakes that caused us to scramble before." She hinted at the fact that they had not taken Fitzwilliam, nor their son Richard, into their confidences last winter when it came to the subject of the inheritance of Rosings. As a result, the estate was placed into even greater peril and a young woman was nearly killed from the machinations of Henry's sister, Lady Catherine de Bourgh.

"And what of James? Should we leave him here for the wolves? I do not believe he will be safe. Their blood runs hot with gambling and sport."

Margaret Fitzwilliam froze, a dilemma horrible for any mother with two children in danger and the faculties and resources to only help one. She remembered the sensitive boy that grew up into her eldest son, a man addicted to his vices and always looking for an escape from his responsibilities. But in great contrast to James stood Richard, her second son who had served his country and represented the family well. Though the futures of both of her sons lay in reckless positions, the merits of the men they became settled the score. James lost.

"I shall write to Darcy, and you can create an excuse for why your business calls you to London. Ask James to come along with us, though I sincerely doubt he will leave the life of luxury and leisure His Grace appears to offer."

Her husband grimly agreed with her and suggested they both take a rest before seeing to their duties. Unfortunately, his wife disagreed and felt there was precious little time to pen a letter and make preparations so that they might leave in the morning.

**********  
Finally, my characters are LEARNING from their past mistakes! LOL.

XOXOX  
Elizabeth Ann West


	24. Chapter 24

A new arrival brought less joy than anxiety to Elizabeth Darcy as she inspected her riding costume in a full-length mirror. Another gift, another set of attire from her beloved, and she liked it far less than the last one. Fitzwilliam had kissed her farewell more than a quarter hour ago as the arrival of her new pony had been announced, and he left to see to the details. Elizabeth recalled her continued objections that she did not ride horses very well and her husband's voice echoed in her head:

"Have you ever been set upon a pony selected only for your own use?"

Red-faced and ashamed she responded that she had not as, though her family owned a number of horses, they were not so wealthy as to have a steed selected for each individual family member. Her father had his favorite ride, and Jane had taken to the mare most often available for the girls to use. And so Elizabeth sniffed and tugged on her spencer one last time as her maid, Higgins, complimented her mistress as to how finely-cut the entire outfit appeared.

"I suppose if I should fall, I shall be spectacularly dressed for the event." Elizabeth laughed, but then allowed her chuckle to trail off when her maid did not join her in her frivolity like she once had. Elizabeth twisted her lips as she considered Higgins with greater interest. Coming to Scotland had changed both of them, and though Elizabeth could not say that she preferred it over the easier way maidens seemed to have with their maids, it was not a change completely unwelcome. As her personal relationship with Betsy had become more formal and perhaps a touch stiff, it had been replaced with the blossoming friendship between herself and her husband. Mentally, she tucked away that question until she could next meet again with Jane or her Aunt Gardiner. Perhaps the sequence of change in her personal life fit a natural order that she had never known.

Outdoors, Elizabeth's courage felt as fleeting as the wind rippling the split skirt around her legs. Mr. Darcy stood frocked in a fresh riding costume himself, his strong legs accentuated by the tan breeches, and a black velvet coat that made his dark eyes sparkle against his roguish curls. Elizabeth enjoyed his more informal hairstyling over the more carefully coiffed expectation of Society. As he felt the same about her own tresses, once they were inside for the evening she often restyled her hair to flow completely freely or with only half of it pinned atop her head.

"And what is the name of my new friend?" Elizabeth surprised her husband by fearlessly standing next to him and addressing the beast's face so that she might rub its nose.

Mr. Darcy cleared his throat as he held the reins for his wife's horse. "I trust my breeder with my life. This is one of the most gentle mares in the paddock. Her name is Serenity."

As if recognizing her name the horse blew out a snort, and nodded her head in Elizabeth's hand as she clucked her tongue.

"You don't like being described as gentle, do you?" Elizabeth asked the horse that could not talk in a mischievous tone as her husband stared in even more befuddlement at the two. He cleared his throat to start again. Elizabeth pretended to hear what the horse had to say before laughing. Realizing her husband's aggravation over being the butt of her joke, Elizabeth abandoned the horse and gently ran her gloved hand across her husband's bicep.

"Do not feel cross, Fitzwilliam. I am here as I said I would."

"Yes, for your riding lessons; I supposed that we should—"

Elizabeth interrupted him with another laugh as she took the reins, placing her left leg in the stirrup before pulling herself up and wrapping her right leg around the pommel to sit perfectly sidesaddle with a tall posture. Serenity displayed the discipline of her training as she slightly adjusted for the addition of her rider, but remained still as Mr. Darcy's own steed held by a groom a few paces away showed slight agitation that one horse was mounted and not himself.

"I thought you said that you could not ride," he said as Elizabeth peered down imperiously at him.

"I never said I could not ride; only that I do not ride well, for I have never found much enjoyment in the endeavor."

Elizabeth clicked her tongue and gently nudged her newest friend to take a slow walk around the paddock. Mr. Darcy mounted his own steed and made a decision that, instead of feeling angry at misunderstanding his wife's abilities, he would take her at her word and merely accelerate his goals for the day.

"If finding your enjoyment is the only lacking matter, then follow me and try to keep up!" He nodded, and the gate to the paddock was opened.

With the slightest of encouragement, his horse happily took the invitation to leave the practice ring. Elizabeth held her reins and nudged Serenity into a higher gear, but the horse described as the most gentle steed in the pasture also needed little encouragement. And it was as Elizabeth suspected: any horse could be plenty gentle within the confines of a smaller grazing area, but allowing any creature with a predilection to run into open land and it's rather hard to deny them their natural habits.

And for once, the wind whipping her face, the chase of her love before her, Elizabeth felt an exhilaration none of her father's old horses could provide. She was free. She felt as though she were flying in comparison to the lacking pace of a walk.

When both animals began to show signs of fatigue from the open run, the happy couple enjoyed a gentle walk side by side on the trail that, while familiar to Fitzwilliam, suddenly became unfamiliar to Elizabeth as they surpassed the point she'd ever explored with walking.

She briefly looked over her shoulder in the direction of Carver House and could scarcely make out where the house should be through the trees and across the open field that served as a back lawn to the estate. The trail grew narrower and slightly rocky as they progressed with a slight incline before them. Fitzwilliam was forced to take the lead, and the two horses walked one after the other up the winding hill to an unnamed destination. More than a few times Mr. Darcy had to duck his head, for the trail had begun to grow over with low-hanging branches.

Elizabeth laughed merrily as, not a half-hour into their ride, her husband's low baritone voice began to sing a tune that started off innocent enough, but quickly turned to bawdy lyrics that made Elizabeth blush. She added her own soprano for the second chorus, which both surprised and delighted Fitzwilliam until, at last, they reached the end of the trail and a breathtaking view that made Elizabeth gasp.

Darcy descended from his horse and quickly moved to assist Elizabeth. She welcomed the opportunity to slide down into his arms.

The salty sea air pricked the delicate skin of her face, and Elizabeth inhaled sharply through her nose.

"Oh, Fitzwilliam," she clung to him, suddenly awash with a greater need of his embrace as the excitement of their adventures overwhelmed her senses and hastened her heartbeat. As her small hand crept up to his chest and slipped below the lapel, she could feel his own beating at a cadence that matched hers.

She leaned back and gazed all around them, amazed at the dotted landscape of the tiny town below them next to the roaring sea with a frothy white anger on the eastern side. Their elevation placed them hundreds of feet above the surrounding countryside, and Elizabeth squealed in delight as her eyes took in every detail. Darcy lifted her and spun them, planting a kiss ever so delicately on her lips before he took her hand and led her closer to the edge. He wanted her look over the hill, but not so near as to risk them falling.

"How could anyone dare to leave such a beautiful place?" she marveled, thinking not just about the vistas spread before her, but also the heart and soul of the people. Although her relationship with Betsy had changed to a more formal standpoint, the rest of the staff of Carver House had taken to their bonny lass with the fervor and dedication afforded to people born into a long-standing family. There were not the suspicious gazes and whispered remarks when Elizabeth entered the room as there had been at Pemberley.

"What if–" a strong gust of wind assaulted them both as Fitzwilliam grasped Elizabeth to keep her from toppling over, though she cried again in delight at Mother Nature's blustery blows. "What if we chose to remain here? In Scotland?"

"But Pemberley is your home." Elizabeth looked up at her husband with consternation painted across her face.

Fitzwilliam bent down, licking his lips, and kissed his Elizabeth with the fiery passion of a man in need. She began to feel the stirrings of her own passion when the kiss suddenly ended. Fitzwilliam sighed, and pressed his forehead against hers.

"My home is any place that I am with you."

Elizabeth Darcy found she could not argue with that, and it was not long before the newlyweds decided, as beautiful as the prospect was, they needed to return home for some much needed discussion and deliberation. After such beauty as that, and coming to feel satisfied in helping to fulfill her husband's every need, the small remainder of her soul that still felt a part of Elizabeth Bennet seemed to disappear.

As they rode their horses in a much more leisurely pace back home, Elizabeth began to feel her husband's sentiments were her own. She only wished she was better at telling him her thoughts and emotions, as he was.

******************  
And there we go, 15 more scenes to write that are planned. The plot is definitely coming to rolling boil now as next I have to pen the news of George's death reaching the Colonel . . . I hope you are enjoying it so far, I am working as hard as I can to get this book DONE. I truly appreciate everyone following along and supporting me on it. :) You all are lovely!

XOXOXOXO  
Elizabeth Ann West

PS I totally live for the reviews. :) But you all know that. LOL.


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Ever a work in progress myself, I am working diligently on a better work:life balance in favor of work. ::giggle: Homeschool is set for next year, we start July 1, so now I am in the driver's seat, frantically rushing to finish this story. Don't worry, it will be delightful!

A letter meticulously framed with a black edge lay upon a mahogany table in the parlor of Rosings. Behind the table, Lady Catherine de Bourgh sat enthroned upon her favorite armchair, her lips pursed as she glared at the dreadful missive. It had not been addressed to her, but to her nephew married to her daughter. And she profoundly resented information disturbing her afternoon that failed to arrive through her as the proper primary channel for consideration.

"Despite your kindness, Mother, I do not wish to impose and already informed my husband that I am quite capable staying in the dowager cottage until he returns from London." Anne Fitzwilliam voiced her opinion on the matter up for discussion in the richly decorated room of golds and maroons. But she knew herself to be helplessly outnumbered, two to one.

"The dowager cottage? Out of the question! No, no, on this matter Richard and I agree. We shall have your trunks packed for you this afternoon. You can move into your old room. You won't be a bother to anyone there." Lady Catherine decreed as Anne's face crumpled, crestfallen.

It had been bad luck that Anne greedily kept Richard from leaving for London over a week ago when he might have left to deliver evidence against the estate's parson, William Collins. Anne keenly worried about both the needs and wishes of her cousin, Fitzwilliam Darcy, and his wife to see justice done, and yet she held a tender, soft spot for her friendship with the parson's wife, Charlotte. Day after day, she had derived an excuse for Richard to wait, the most recent being the revelation she suspected to be with child. When the letter came that forced his hand to go to London, a death in the family, the nervous father-to-be abhorred the idea of his wife alone. Even if the only recourse was to use his wife's mother as a caregiver.

"Perhaps as a compromise to my wife's wishes, we might allow her to select the rooms in which she will stay while I'm away. I suspect it shall not take me long to set Georgiana's affairs in order until Darcy can return." Richard Fitzwilliam cracked his knuckles as he observed the exchange between his wife and her mother. He had forgotten the years of monstrous misuse his precious Anne endured at the hands of Catherine the Bully. But he remained in an unfavorable position.

Richard could not encourage Anne to travel nor did he wish to leave her alone in her condition. He could not ignore the letter, though it did feel as though he was forced to put his own family's needs below that of his obligation to his ward. He finally understood how Darcy had felt those many months with Miss Bennet. The inconvenient burden of tidying up another mess to do with the Wickhams did not sit well with the old soldier accustomed to efficiency and discipline.

"Days? It should take no more than two! Bring the girl here! There can be nothing left for her in London now that her husband is dead." Lady Catherine appeared unaffected by the glances shared between Richard and Anne.

Anne silently implored her husband to not flap his lips by jutting out her chin, slightly straining her neck. She had not told her mother of the letter they had from Georgiana about expecting a child and wishing their aid to convince Darcy into taking her home to Pemberley.

Richard uncomfortably cleared his throat and picked up the announcement of George Wickham's death that had been addressed to him from the table. He held the dark omen as if it stood for some talisman for the information he was about to share with his aunt.

"My last letter from our cousin imparted she is in the family way and sought assistance to plead with Darcy. Georgiana wishes to have her child at Pemberley." Richard watched carefully for some signs of understanding by his aunt, but Lady Catherine merely waved her hand as though Richard had asked for some silly indulgence. Anne looked away from her husband to hide her disappointment.

"I should think it more appropriate for her to have her child here. At Rosings."

"Mother, you should not be so crass." Anne Fitzwilliam asked, her voice breaking with the pain of her mother's rejection.

"I am practical. It is well known in the family now that the bastard son of my late husband was shot dead on the street. Should we deny the innocent babe his birthright? That is of course if your progeny should not survive."

Richard's face turned a scarlet red as Anne's slackened to a pale white.

"How could you speak so lightly of my wife losing our child?"

Lady Catherine pointed a fat, bejeweled finger at her wayward nephew and clicked her tongue in annoyance. "I suppose you think me cavalier with my daughter's life? But you have it all wrong. You took such right to be concerned the moment you two married against my wishes and without my knowledge. I had my plans to protect her. If she dies bearing your child, it is not my sword that shall have been the murder weapon. But yours."

Richard began to show signs of losing his temper with his aunt once more when Anne stood and walked protectively to stand next to her husband. Gently, she placed a hand upon his arm, giving him reason to hesitate long enough for her to broker the peace.

"It is decided, that I shall stay at Rosings while you are in London. And you should fetch Georgiana and bring her here; she is young and friendless. But we are her family." Anne kept a firm grip on her husband's arm, hoping now he would understand her needs in silence.

Lady Catherine smugly smiled. Finally, her world felt back under her good regulation. She had suffered a steep blow when her machinations fell apart in orchestrating a sham wedding between her daughter and her other nephew, Fitzwilliam Darcy. A loveless marriage could be trusted to minimize risk to Anne's health.

But fickle Fate had given Lady Catherine a new opportunity to keep control of her home. Had neither George Wickham or Anne produced a child, the estate would fall into the hands of the de Bourgh family. If Anne should falter in her breeding, Lady Catherine could always use the original will as leverage to keep the house in the ways she preferred since the heir would be none other than her great niece or nephew. Georgiana would remember who came to her aid in her darkest hour. As far as Lady Catherine was concerned, a sixteen-year-old widow held no business running her own life.

Although Anne agreed to stay at Rosings, she refused her mother's suggestion that she go up to the blue suite of rooms that she had chosen for her overnight stay and instead joined her husband back at their cottage while he packed. The curricle had not traveled far before Anne broke the quiet between them to give him further instructions.

"I am not distressed if it is Georgiana's child that should inherit Rosings instead of me. I only worry for you."

Richard steered the ponies around the bend for the quarter mile to their small abode.

"Worry for me? If your mother thinks she will ingratiate herself into Georgiana's good graces, she forgets how hard she was on the child anytime Darcy brought her to visit. But it's no matter, I will not lose you, and we will not lose the baby. This home is yours to inherit."

"I would not underestimate my mother. I know your father has assured us that the Wickhams cannot make a claim to the estate, but I do not trust her."

Richard shrugged, then twitched violently as a fly buzzed around his ear. Swatting away the offending insect, he bumped into his wife, who shuffled to bump him right back with her shoulder and the happy couple began to laugh despite the heavy topic of death and inheritance.

"I do not underestimate Catherine, not in the way that she underestimated me for many years to our benefit." Richard turned to smile at his wife who slyly turned away with a blush. It was true that the two cousins had enjoyed a scandalous romance in the years since their majority while her mother thought only of matching Anne with Fitzwilliam. "But even if she kept an original copy of the will, how is she ever going to explain the fraudulent copy on file with the barristers? Besides, it's no matter for I shall not lose you and we shall not lose the baby." He repeated his most fervent wish in the world as though it were a prayer.

The dowager cottage lay before them just down the lane. Anne thought of what else was revealed in their audience with her mother. She seized Richard's arm as she recalled.

"My mother knew I was with child; I did tell you we have spies. What if she knows of your other aims?"

Richard slowed the ponies to afford them more privacy to talk and lowered his voice.

"I shall take care, but please remember I have fought in greater wars than a family squabble."

Anne's imagination flashed the idea of George Wickham shot dead in the streets and she couldn't escape the worry. "Still, if Mother has a plan to protect that parson of hers . . ."

"You believe it to be the kitchen maid who ferries information across the lawns, yes?"

Anne nodded as the curricle came to a halt in front of their precious little cottage. The cornflowers in the front yard had bloomed and lined the cobbled path from the white gate to the front door. She waited for Richard to hand the reins to the groom and then walk around to assist her down from her seat.

"Is she not also tasked with the laundry?" Richard asked.

Anne's eyes lifted to meet his as he pulled her closer than necessary.

"And my mother would ask to be told if my courses had not come."

"Precisely."

Richard placed a kiss on his wife's hand as he turned to lead her inside, the melancholy of having to leave her for the first time became palpable to his senses. He could easily saddle his horse and ride the thirty miles of good road to London that evening but planned to take a carriage in the morning since he was now fetching Georgiana instead of merely seeing her settled.

Anne giggled as Richard's other hand whipped out to brush the top of the blue flowers before he plucked one to present to her.

"You will leave tomorrow?" Anne felt a wash of guilt as she reasoned as well that her husband's travel plans must change from before.

"Yes, which means let us have a good meal tonight and a peaceful night alone."

******  
I have 2 more chapters to post today. Hang in there!


	26. Chapter 26

Contraptions and technology and little models were all the rage for the rich from the 1700s on... this is a bit of an imagined contraption based on the history of Dumfries, Scotland, and what I've seen in museums. :) Oh, and Daniel Gray was a real silversmith of the period... Enjoy!

*********************

Mrs. Darcy ventured out of Carver House to explore the village of Dumfries with her trusted maid and the housekeeper, Mrs. McSorley. The three women shared a mutual mission of securing the household the latest in linens, calicos, and other household purchases that were routinely handled by Mrs. McSorley, but Elizabeth felt deserved her touch now that she and Mr. Darcy resided in the home.

The well-sprung carriage brought them to Market Cross as the charming village bustled with activity. Down the lane stood the impressive Midsteeple in the high afternoon sun as Elizabeth scrunched up her nose to recall Mr. Darcy telling her about the architecture of the village before they left. He had wished to accompany her, but she successfully negotiated for him to stay home and catch up on his correspondence while she hastened to her rightful duties. But her ultimate motive was to keep him home so that she might also select a surprise gift for the man who had bestowed such surprises upon her as a sapphire set, fencing costume, and a new horse.

As the ladies began walking the freshly swept and cobbled walkway closest to the shop doors away from the filth of the streets, Elizabeth looked around to orient herself with the layout of the buildings.

"I know the late poet Robert Burns was from here, was his house on High Street?"

"His house be at the very end of the town, Mrs. Darcy. But I'm afraid to say there is nothing left of the great man but his writing." Mrs. McSorley sighed, finding the exuberance of her mistress to be a new reality she was still accustoming herself to accept.

Elizabeth's energy continued at a visited the drapers, and she and Mrs. McSorley clashed slightly over the amount of cloth that Elizabeth purchased. An appointment was made for the dressmakers to come to Carver House on the morrow to outfit Mrs. Darcy with more gowns and accouterments since she and Mr. Darcy intended to remain for some time.

A bookstore across the lane offered a few treasures, but Mrs. Darcy felt disappointed. A new folio paled in comparison to the delight her Fitzwilliam had provided with his generosity. She insisted they continue shopping even as Betsy suggested she might be tired.

"Just one year ago, do you know I regularly trekked my father's lands from dawn to noon? I am quite capable of exploring more of this charming hamlet," Elizabeth said, finding the consideration for her needs an endearing quality of Betsy.

The candlemaker visit, while necessary, also did not produce any results, but nor did Elizabeth expect the shop to do so. She considered a visit to the tailor, but she had not brought Simmons. And she had failed to consult with him as to the contents of her husband's wardrobe.

A silversmith across the street caught Elizabeth's eye, and they fetched the carriage to take them around the block to pull up in front of the establishment.

"Is there something amiss with the silver set?" Mrs. McSorley inquired.

Elizabeth shook her head. "No, no, the silver set is most satisfactory and has been well cared for. I would like to pick out a gift for Mr. Darcy." Elizabeth blushed to admit such an aim.

"Oh, that is a superb idea, Mrs. Darcy. I think he shall enjoy that very much!" A glimmer of Betsy Higgins' easy way with her mistress again appeared before Mrs. McSorley gave her a sharp look of disapproval. But Elizabeth did not mind. She reached forward and clasped Betsy's hands to squeeze them in celebration.

"You must come inside with me and help me select a proper gift for him." Deep in Elizabeth's heart, a small twinge of dissatisfaction reminded her she was asking her maid a question she might pose to one of her sisters also just one year ago. But she refused to dwell on such maudlin sentiments and remembered this was about Fitzwilliam, not her.

Betsy agreed as Mrs. McSorley began to shake her head, but the two younger women ignored their elder. Mrs. Darcy alighted from the carriage first, followed closely by her maid, and the two women entered the silver shop with their eyes wide in wonder.

Ancient symbols of heraldry from falcons to staggs decorated most of the cups, tableware, and metals carefully displayed in glass showcases. A tall, stout man introduced himself as Mr. Daniel Gray. Not recognizing either of the women, Mr. Gray's manners proved terse as he asked the ladies what assistance he might provide.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Gray. I am Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy, and this is my maid, Higgins. I should like to select a gift for my husband if you would be so kind as to assist?"

"Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy? Can't say that I've heard of him." Mr. Gray adjusted his spectacles as the fine clothing of the lady in front of him made her tale appear to be true, but there were many who traveled looking beyond their station to get credit where credit was not due.

"Have you not heard that Carver House has reopened for the master or mistress?" Higgins spoke out of turn but did not enjoy seeing Elizabeth subjected to this man's scorn when her lady was all that was fine and kind.

"Perhaps you carry some letter from your husband to approve of this spending?" Mr. Gray began to sneer at the ladies as he considered simply sending them away before entertaining this farce of a complete stranger further when the door behind them opened once more.

"Danny Gray, I know you are not giving Mrs. Darcy a lick of trouble this afternoon." Mrs. McSorley chastised the shop owner who scowled as Elizabeth and Higgins shared a giggle.

Elizabeth did not feel fussed the shop owners were reluctant to allow her to purchase with nothing but her word. She had seen a similar treatment of strangers in Meryton when she spent many an afternoon at the bookstore while her mother and sisters customed the dressmaker.

As Mr. Gray fumbled his apologies, Elizabeth arched an eyebrow and asked again for her query. Mr. Gray bustled behind the counter and began to pull an elegant array of snuff boxes lined with ivory and mother of pearl for Mrs. Darcy's inspection.

But Elizabeth frowned.

"I'm afraid my husband does not enjoy the habit. Do you have anything more unique?"

Mr. Gray looked at the fresh-faced Mrs. Darcy in consternation. His eyes flicked to Mrs. McSorley who slowly gave a nod.

Mr. Gray rubbed his chin and asked a simply odd question. "Is Mr. Darcy a modern sort of man?"

The odd question caused Higgins and Elizabeth to look at one another in confusion as Higgins shrugged her shoulders and Elizabeth tentatively nodded.

"My husband is a well-read man of many ideas. I am not sure I understand the context of your question."

"Wait here, if you please." Mr. Gray left the counter to tuck into a back room leaving Mrs. Darcy bewildered as to how a shopping excursion to find a gift from her husband turned into such a mysterious exercise. Shortly, Mr. Gray returned with an elegant silver teapot, piping hot that he sat up on the counter.

Elizabeth pursed her lips as Mr. Gray warned them not to touch it for it was hot and disappeared once more into the back room. She did not wish to give her husband a tea kettle. Not even a silver one.

"This is all a bit ridiculous," Mrs. Darcy said under her breath, but Mrs. McSorley offered a cryptic explanation.

"Have you heard of the work of William Symington?"

Elizabeth shook her head, and Mrs. McSorley only smiled. She did not wish to ruin the great surprise that she suspected was coming.

Mr. Gray returned with a silver and gold contraption of wheels, pulleys and a very large boxy design on the backend. As he carefully set the mechanical wonder on the counter, Elizabeth and Higgins took a natural step back as Mr. Gray began to describe what he had brought out to show them.

"Now, you won't find this in any of your fancy shops in London, this be a Dumfries wonder if I ever saw one. You pour the hot water into this here box." Mr. Gray lifted the silver lid and slowly poured the piping hot water into the reservoir and closed it. "And you light a small fire in the box below." Mr. Gray filled the lower box with small sticks and fetched a small coal from the fire with a tiny set of silver tongs.

And then nothing happened.

The pristine polished metal of gears and wheels lay just as elegantly upon the counter as it had before he poured the water into the reservoir.

Sensing their lack of trust, Mr. Gray encouraged them to wait. Within a few moments, a small puff of steam began to snake out the top end of the pipe, and Mr. Elgin fumbled for a stopper claiming that he had forgotten. As soon as the damper plugged the hole, things began to move on the sculpture. A cog began to turn which turned another cog and finally a wheel spun, flashing the sunlight that glimmered from an open window behind them. Elizabeth had never seen anything like it.

"How marvelous! You mean to tell me it runs on water?" Elizabeth leaned forward as if she might touch it but Mr. Gray stopped her.

"You don't want to be doing that, Mrs. Darcy, the metal can get quite hot. It runs on the steam you see, like the engines."

Elizabeth clapped her gloved hands in delight. She had heard of massive steam engines used in factories from newspaper articles she had read and of the poor workers replaced by such advancements that tried to break them. But she had never seen such a demonstration of the power of steam.

"And this is available for purchase? I cannot imagine another gift for Fitzwilliam!" Elizabeth almost added nor such a treasure to take home with them, but she prevented such a qualifier from tumbling out of her mouth. She had to remain disciplined in keeping her wishes to return to England private as her husband so dearly wanted to stay in Scotland.

Mr. Gray looked once more to Mrs. McSorley who rolled her eyes at the man she would always know as young Danny before she nodded again. This time, the affront aggravated Elizabeth, and her tone turned icy.

"Mr. Gray, as remarkable as your contraption is, it is I, Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy who is making the purchase. Perhaps you should concentrate more upon satisfying my concerns then look to my housekeeper for constant approval."

Mr. Gray again fumbled his apologies and Elizabeth forgave him by asking what happens when you remove the damper. Mr. Gray used the small set of tongs to remove the small piece of oil paper crumpled into a ball that acted as a release valve for the pent-up steam to suddenly come billowing out of the top of the last pipe.

"You have to demonstrate for him, Mrs. Darcy, to be careful when you release the pressure. It doesn't look that strong, but it can slice a right nasty cut into your hand."

Elizabeth nodded to signify she understood and asked for the tongs to be added to the package for delivery to Carver House. She gave careful instructions for all items to be wrapped and delivered with the linens and other cloths she ordered from the other shops. To Mrs. McSorley, she made certain that the instructions were clear that Mr. Darcy's gift was not to be taken to him but instead to her so that she might present it.

Mrs. McSorley agreed with her mistress as Elizabeth and Higgins talked of nothing but the steam engine the entire way home to Carver House. As steam engines had been in use in Dumfries for many decades, Mrs. McSorley wandered Mrs. McSorley found the interests of Mrs. Darcy and Higgins to be a reminder of the marvels she had even taken for granted.

Over the last mile to the house, Mrs. McSorley shared with them stories of the public tests out on the canals and the river Ness and how she remembered a young Fitzwilliam being taken by his father to see the steamboats trials.

"But I'm not sure the lad will remember, as he was barely breached when he was taken to see the show.

"Did both of his parents take him to see the trial?" Elizabeth asked, earnestly.

Mrs. McSorley squinted her eyes as she tried to recall. The carriage slowed down to signal they had arrived back at Carver.

"I believe they did. It was the last summer that Mr. and Mrs. Darcy came to Carver you see."

As the carriage came to a complete stop and Elizabeth waited for the brakes to be applied, she grinned to herself and fluttered her hands in her lap. She had selected the gift merely for its uniqueness, but now with any luck, the presentation would give her husband a happy memory to recall from his childhood.

She was still new to this business of being a wife but began to feel she was finding her way into providing for Fitzwilliam's every need. And waiting for a proper time to show him the steam contraption was her next hurdle to overcome.

******

One more and it really stirs the pot!


	27. Chapter 27

Mrs. Potter, the housekeeper of Darcy House in London, felt enormous cheer as the cavalry arrived from Rosings. She had always admired the master's cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, for his genteel manners and a strong sense of duty to this country and family. She also remembered he was the only one to physically thrash that coward, Wickham, when the tragic couple surfaced from the slums of London trying to claim Georgiana's dowry.

"Blessings to you for coming so soon, Colonel," Mrs. Potter fussed over the man.

"Has there been any word from Darcy?" Before he had left Rosings, Richard had collected all of the correspondence from his cousin Fitzwilliam to include the latest letter the confirmed Darcy and Elizabeth had married over the anvil.

The housekeeper of the London townhome shook her head. "I'm afraid not, but they are far, and I do so hope the master and Miss Bennet found their happiness."

Despite the grim reason for his sudden appearance in London, Richard Fitzwilliam could not help but smile at the mention of the couple that he and his wife owed so much to for their own happiness. Mrs. Potter clasped the broach at her breast.

"Truly?"

Richard nodded.

Mrs. Potter covered her mouth with her hand and looked up at the ceiling to thank the good Lord for this small bit of good news. Nothing but dark storm clouds lay over the house of Darcy over the last week.

Richard left Mrs. Potter to climb the familiar stairs and knocked while announcing himself outside of Georgiana's room. To his surprise, his cousin did not open the door, but a slightly worse for the wear Caroline Bingley permitted him entrance.

"Miss Bingley," Richard bowed to the woman to give her due respect as she scarcely curtsied and acknowledged his presence. His eyes struggled to see as the drapes remained closed in the room. He felt enveloped by constant darkness with nothing a lone candle lit on the far bureau.

"Georgie?" He asked as a soft moan came from the direction of the bed.

Richard entered the center of the room to find the Widow Wickham lying in her bed with her arm draped dramatically over her forehead. While he felt sympathy for his young cousin, such theatrics did not hold water with his military background.

"Let's open these curtains and allow some light, shall we?" Richard began pulling the cords as Georgiana moaned even louder.

"I have no wish to see the sun, it holds no joy for me," Georgiana dramatically announced.

"I have heard that laying in bed all day is not good for one's constitution, particularly if one is with child." Richard startled both of the women in the room to discuss such a feminine subject.

"And what would you know about bearing children?"

Richard turned around from the open windows and refused to give into the shock of seeing how pale Georgiana had become wearing the black and taking to her bed. He wondered if perhaps she had not been laying down when he arrived and merely took the position since she appeared dressed in a day gown which would not be comfortable for spending one's life in bed.

"I have read books on the subject now that your cousin Anne also suspects she might be carrying my son." Richard pronounced, unable to hide the pride of an expecting father from his voice.

"Congratulations to you and your wife, Colonel." Miss Bingley shared, reminding the Colonel she was even in the room as he had quite forgotten. Georgiana slit her eyes in the direction of her friend and privately questioned her loyalties.

"Do you know where they buried my husband?"

"I came as soon as the letter arrived. Why did you not send it as an Express?" Richard seemed bewildered as neither of the two women offered an explanation for the haphazard manner in which the correspondence was conducted.

"In a pauper's field!" Georgiana did not address the criticism of how her husband's death announcements were handled and continued to heap blame upon Richard for the lack of funds for even a decent burial. But Richard held his hands up to signal he would hear no more.

"You forget that my position was for not a farthing to be given to you or to that scoundrel. If Darcy finally saw fit to curtail your childish behavior with tightening the purse strings, you have only yourself to blame." Richard's voice began to raise in volume and he had to remind himself that his cousin was young and also with child.

Once he had calmed his temper, Richard related the offer from Lady Catherine. "As we do not know when your brother and his wife will return from Scotland, we believe it best for you to come and live with us at Rosings."

"You mean where my husband should have been buried with his ancestors." Georgiana revealed in one statement that she knew far more about her husband's progeny than any of the family had given her credit. This revelation distracted both herself and Richard from Miss Bingley taking a stagger and grasping the chair next to the writing desk for support.

"How long have you known?" The Colonel asked in an unaffected tone. While others in the family might believe that George and Georgiana deserved to know the possibility he could have inherited Rosings, Richard's loyalties lay with Anne. As far as he was concerned, the estate rightfully belonged to his wife and never should have been put into a trust for mismanagement as it had for nearly fifteen years.

Georgiana refused to answer and finally looked at Miss Bingley who appeared white as a sheet. But before the young woman could inquire after her friend, Mrs. Potter arrived in the doorway to announce another visitor.

"Mrs. Hurst has arrived, should I instruct her to come above stairs?"

Caroline released the back of the chair and stood straighter.

"No, no, I will come speak to her down below to give Mrs. Wickham and the Colonel some privacy. You'll have to excuse me."

The two cousins did not wait long before continuing their argument over Rosings and the murder of George Wickham.

Caroline flinched as she could hear Georgiana's shrieks echoing down the staircase as she found her sister waiting in the foyer.

"My sister and I will speak in the parlor if you do not mind." The housekeeper agreed and escorted the two women to the front room before closing the door behind her. She still held duties to fulfill. With the arrival of the Colonel, accommodations had to be made for that evening's dinner, and Mrs. Potter excused herself politely.

Louisa smiled as the door opened and closed once more to leave her alone with Caroline. Sounds of the tantrum again could be heard briefly before suddenly they were silenced

"I hear Mrs. Wickham appears to be having another fit. What a healthy dose of irony. . . that you endured the very behavior we suffered from you all these years, Sister."

Caroline Bingley continued to breathe rapidly and shallowly as she took to the divan. Louisa noticed the signs of her sister's distress but did not shower her with sympathy. She had come to collect Caroline, and the arrival of the Colonel would make her task much simpler.

When Caroline still did not speak but continued her hyperventilating, Louisa finally gave in to ask Caroline whatever was the matter. Gasping between words, Caroline Bingley slowly began to explain.

"The Colonel.… he informed… that is… he said… your brother and his wife!" Forcing the word wife through clenched teeth, Caroline's breathing suddenly became less ragged as rage replaced her shock.

"Come now, Caro, you did know that Mr. Darcy was no longer available to you. He eloped with Elizabeth Bennet. And I nearly forgot the reason that I came to call," Louisa pulled a letter from her reticule. "It would appear that we are now the proud aunts of two brats instead of one. Jane was safely delivered of twins."

"But if they are married then it was all for nothing!" Caroline did not signify that she understood Louisa's announcement of her niece and nephew and continued to talk only about Mr. Darcy.

Lowering her voice, Louisa leaned forward to try to get her sister to see reason and not start screaming herself. "Remember where you are. What was all for nothing? What did you do, Caroline?"

"Everything! I found the proof; I got rid of that man, I took care of that shrew…" Caroline catapulted from the divan and began pacing in the parlor, waving her hands wildly as she motioned to the floor above her and continued her complaints against Georgiana Wickham.

But Louisa had heard the most damning statement that her sister had made. She didn't know the particulars, but she remembered Caroline coming to her husband months earlier to ask for the means in which the Hurst family sought repayment of loans. She just never believed her sister could be so insane as to believe such a plan would bring Fitzwilliam Darcy into her arms.

"Shut your mouth!" Louisa Hurst stood from the chair that she had taken and marched forward to Caroline who continued to rant and rave. Anger boiling up in the most peaceful Bingley sibling came to a head as Louisa's hand reached back and swung forward with all of her might to slap her sister. Caroline's face turned quickly with the trajectory of the slap as she raised her hand to her stung cheek.

"You will not say another word!" Louise's warning came at just the right moment as the parlor door opened and the Colonel stood looking rather upset. Louisa feared that he had heard what Caroline had said, but waited for the man to address them.

"I ask your pardon for my interruption." He looked suspiciously at Caroline as she rubbed her cheek and to Louisa expectantly.

"I just shared with Caroline the happy news. Mr. Bingley and dear, sweet Jane have been blessed with twins!" Louisa Hurst used her best sugarcoated voice and appeased the Colonel's curiosity.

The man shrugged as he still did not understand why Miss Bingley appeared as if she had just been slapped, but decided it was a family affair and he had enough family affairs of his own to handle.

"Yes, that is happy news. As I believe our families are now rather connected, I am happy to hear that my cousins are well."

Louisa clasped Caroline's arm and squeezed in hopes that she would not say a word as the Colonel again referred to the marriage of Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet. But Caroline merely gave a small whimper.

"Colonel, I do hate to be forward, nor do I wish to insult your family. But I am afraid that my sister is feeling unwell. I believe taking on the care of Mrs. Wickham on her own was too much for her delicate constitution. I had been concerned for some days, you see, and came today to take her back to my home for a rest."

The Colonel was not offended, and he more or less agreed with Mrs. Hurst that taking care of Georgiana Wickham was more than a trial and nothing but trouble.

"I have convinced Georgiana to come with me back to Rosings. And I wish to thank Miss Bingley for her care of my cousin. It is a kindness our family will never forget." The Colonel looked at Miss Bingley expectantly as she looked at him with scorn in her expression.

"I should hope you will not forget. I spent every day and night with her since she came back from the Carmichaels. No one else took care of her as I did!"

"Yes…" The Colonel said gently looking again to Mrs. Hurst for support.

"You'll have to excuse my sister; I believe she is very tired. Come Caroline, the servants can bring your trunk over to the Hurst townhouse later today. Yes, Colonel?"

Richard Fitzwilliam nodded as he bowed to the two ladies leaving the room. He assured Mrs. Hurst that all of Caroline's belongings would be returned to them that evening as both he and Georgiana would be leaving at dawn for Kent.

"Thank you, for coming so quickly. And safe travels to you both." Louisa wished the Colonel well, and she practically shoved Caroline out the door and into the waiting Hurst carriage that she had instructed to remain on the street no matter what.

Caroline slipped into a depressed mood and halfway to the Hurst townhouse began to cry like a babe over her fruitless efforts. But once more, Louisa Hurst felt no sympathy for her youngest sister and only wondered how severe the punishment was going to be when her husband learned that it was very likely Caroline was a murderess.

Hmmm, there were many people with an incentive to kill George Wickham . . . who knew Caroline had it in her (do not worry, I am not so ridiculous as to make Caroline a murderess . . . but the important part is SHE believes herself responsible). Right, off to write MORE!

XOXOXOX  
Thank you in advance for all of your reviews and feedback. I am making the corrections you point out in the final file. You all ROCK!


	28. Chapter 28

Working on just a new chapter a day until it's done. Had a GREAT epiphany come to me last night about the next scene I must record today. I always know when I get STUCK there's a reason! Oh, it will be so much better now! Meanwhile, enjoy this cute little scene between Kitty and Maria Lucas. Tomorrow we find out how Scotland is going... some black edged letters will arrive.

******

As Jane Bingley continued to recover from the birth of her children, visitors poured into Netherfield to share their well wishes and to see the miracle of two children born at the same time. Aunt Phillips had come to stay for an extended visit to provide support, and Mrs. Bennet visited daily and rarely left before supper. An odd few weeks of dining with various members of her family gnawed at Kitty Bennet's thoughts about her future. Her mother never insisted that she returned with her to Longbourn, but Catherine Bennet did not dwell too long on wondering if that meant her mother did not want her ever to come home or if she merely did not care either way.

The twins were nearly three weeks old when Maria Lucas came to visit not to see the babies, but Kitty herself. The butler, Mr. Higgins, brought Miss Lucas up to Kitty's studio, a place Maria had been only a handful of times before. Regardless, Maria's face lit up with complete joy every time she entered the sun-drenched parlor on the second floor.

Kitty thanked Higgins as she pulled a drape over the easel she was working on and walked across the room to greet her friend.

"You are so lucky! If I had a room like this for my own use, I don't think I should ever leave either." Maria giggled as Kitty joined her.

"Did you wish to see the babies? Lynn smiles now, and Little Charlie has the cutest dimples." Kitty took a few steps as if they were to leave the room, but Maria shook her head.

"That's all right. We don't need to disturb them; I came to see you."

"Is your mother visiting with mine?" Kitty asked, and Maria nodded. Kitty sighed.

A new source of competition between Lady Lucas and her mother had developed in the last week. Mrs. Bennet had won the most recent round with Jane giving birth, but Lady Lucas had slipped that her own daughter, Charlotte, was expecting a baby with Mr. Collins, the heir apparent to Longbourn should Mr. Bennet die first. As a result, sitting in a room with the two women was not an exercise Maria or Kitty enjoyed.

Kitty pulled out a second sketchpad and invited Maria to join her in taking a study of a rose in a vase. Although Miss Lucas' talent did not match Kitty's natural one, under her friend's instruction Maria's drawing skills had improved. They completed the rough outline of the basic shapes when Kitty peered over Maria's shoulder to pay her a compliment.

"Your proportions are perfect. The vase and the table do not appear to be the same size."

Maria wrinkled her nose and gently laughed as she considered her own work.

"Perhaps this sketch will be good enough I will show my mother…" Maria trailed off as the two friends exchanged a look and then both burst out into giggles as Maria shook her head. Though Lady Lucas would likely support Maria in her efforts to be more genteel, the two friends had long discussed keeping Maria's sketching a secret so that her mother did not interfere and therefore make Maria miserable with practice. The Lucas and Bennet families contrasted as one family on the rise and another family that had long been considered falling, but the second status grew more complicated with the advantageous marriage of Jane to Mr. Bingley and the disastrous scandal of Elizabeth running off with Mr. Darcy.

"Jane has had a letter. Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth were married in Scotland," Kitty shared, and she began working on the details of the petals.

"How exciting!"

The girls traded in lower voices what it might be like to elope, with Maria finding the notion entirely dangerous and Kitty rather romantic. When that subject matter became exhausted with a return to wondering what Elizabeth might have worn for her wedding, Maria began to grow bored with drawing. She sketched much slower than her friend and thus grew frustrated with her progress.

"I know Charlotte wished her well and had planned to go to Pemberley for the summer, but I believe everyone's plans have changed." Maria did not elaborate to again talk about her sister being with child.

"Is Charlotte happier?"

Maria nodded.

"I think so; she writes that Mr. Collins treats her much better, especially since she is with child. What about you? I'm surprised Lizzie did not want anyone to join her now that she's married."

Maria's wistfulness belied her personal disappointment. Her sister had not responded to Maria's last inquiry about another visit this autumn to Rosings. Being the youngest and only daughter left in the house, Maria held the uncomfortable position of constantly remaining under her mother's eye and without a companion.

Kitty looked at the room around her, silently inventorying her sketches and paintings in various states of completion on nearly every surface available to her.

"I think it would be rather rude for me to leave Jane and Mr. Bingley when they've been so kind to me. And Lizzie helps me! She is the one who supports my purchase of supplies." Kitty rose from the sofa to pull out a set of watercolors and held up two paintbrushes for Maria's approval. But her friend shook her head and cast her sketch aside, signaling that she wished to do what she often did when she visited Kitty, which was to begin a drawing and then feel content to watch her friend work. Kitty shrugged and brought both paintbrushes over to the table with a jar of water and paints. She dipped the tip into the water and then pressed the bristles together with her lips, before delicately touching the darkest red as a base wash for the rose.

"Will you soon return to Longbourn? I'm sure you could still use the studio as you pleased."

Kitty said nothing as she finished painting the red of the rose and then swished the brush in the jar of water. Maria began to speak of details in the gown her mother purchased for her intended for the upcoming assembly before Kitty answered her first question.

"To be perfectly honest, I haven't thought of returning home. I know I have not lived here for very long, but it feels as though I've always been with Jane and Mr. Bingley that I don't have any plans to return."

"Not even after the christening? What if they make you –" Maria Lucas lowered her voice and her eyes flicked to the door before she continued, "what if they make you the spinster aunt who has to take care of the children?"

Kitty laughed at her friend's mysterious nature before calming herself, then losing herself to giggles once more. The very idea that she would be placed in charge of the children had never crossed her mind as neither Jane nor Charles had ever asked her for any assistance since the babes were born.

"It could happen, you know. We are young now, but if too many years pass, well, I just don't want you to forget to find a husband for yourself."

Maria's warning reminded Kitty of how she used to be just a year ago. Lydia, Maria, and Kitty forever talked about finding husbands and working out ways to make sure they were included in all of the dinners, teas and other social engagements their mothers attended. But it all seemed so foolish now when Kitty thought about it.

"I suppose seeing Jane and Elizabeth so happily settled, that when the right man crosses my path, Providence shall see to my needs. Besides, your sister did not follow the common path, and she will become mistress of Longbourn!" Kitty reasoned.

Maria agreed, and the subject matter returned to the assembly. Kitty offered to sketch Maria in her gown if she would wear it the next time she came to visit.

The two friends parted when Higgins came to knock on the door and beg his forgiveness from Miss Catherine. He had sought to bring the girls refreshments, but Lady Lucas had already declared for the Lucas carriage to be called.

"That is fine, Higgins. Miss Lucas will be visiting me again very soon for a more extended visit." Catherine beamed at the old butler as she enjoyed the manners of the staff at Netherfield Park far more than the Longbourn staff that barely paid her any mind. Hill was very devoted to her elder sisters and her parents, but as the fourth daughter of five rarely were Kitty's needs even a question.

Leaving each other with an embrace, Kitty offered the sketch that Maria begun but her friend shook her head.

Alone in her studio once more, Kitty abandoned the sketch of the rose on the table and walked back to the far corner where her easel stood. Picking up her charcoal, she lifted the drape and stared thoughtfully at the scene she had begun. Staring back at her were the half forms of five Bennet women in the gowns Kitty could remember from the last assembly before anyone married and her family life had been much simpler. The tricky part remained filling in her sister Elizabeth's expression as it had been some months since Kitty had seen her. But like all great portraitists, Catherine Bennet erred on the side of flattery where accuracy became a challenge.

***********************

I love casting Kitty as the peacemaker. :) Thank you for reading... XOXOX Elizabeth Ann West


	29. Chapter 29

A/N: I have another scene after this to edit tomorrow and then 8 more chapters to write. Getting so close to finishing this episode in the saga, that I am getting anxious! I'm sure you are too! :)

I wrote this scene while listening to Adagio for Strings... it's one my favorite pieces for when I have to write sad.

***************************

The blunt pen knife mocked Fitzwilliam Darcy from the top of his desk. He had spent much of the last few weeks in the company of his Elizabeth that once again his correspondence had piled up. The surplus of post occurred with too much regularity and vexed him greatly ever since Georgiana first ran away with Wickham. Before her elopement, before meeting Elizabeth, before all of it; he had always been a reliable correspondent for his businesses and estates. A silver heraldic falcon, the symbol for generations of Carver House, still recognizable in the handle of the pen knife so dull as to only be used for breaking wax seals received Fitzwilliam's focused gaze. He could not bring himself to look more closely at a letter in the stack lined with a black edge.

For a brief moment, he considered only opening the letter in Elizabeth's company. Husband and wife for a short time, yet he suspected her comforts might make the news easier to handle. Alas, Elizabeth had left with Mrs. McSorley to visit the tenants on the property. They had both agreed it was best for them to spend slightly more effort addressing the duties that befall a Mr. and Mrs. Darcy over indulging in the many pleasures of being a Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. Fitzwilliam had known the day would come when their private wedding trip would be deemed complete, and a restoration of order would return to his life. He merely rued making the agreement with work mocking him in the form a neat stack of responsibilities.

Still, he could wait. There were plenty of other letters in the stack likely as important. But even that plan fell apart when he reasoned he held no inkling of who the death announcement honored. What if it was one of Elizabeth's family members and the staff placed the letter in his pile to spare her? She might have another letter of condolence that was not outlined as it should, and he would not wish to let her down with cowardice on his part. He would only know the contents of the black post if he gave the letter his full attentions.

Scowling, he finally lifted the pen knife and fetched the foreboding missive, tumbling a dozen letters to the top of his desk. The handwriting on the front appeared foreign, but it was addressed to him from the direction of London. His sister wrote her capital C like her capital G, with a distinctive flare. The C in Carver House could not have been penned by Georgiana. The rest of the letters did not match the strict penmanship both Darcy children had been instructed to use in their formative years.

Darcy's hands began to tremble. If Georgiana had not sent the letter, who had? Did this mean that his sister had perished?

Guilt and anger washed over Fitzwilliam as he took out his frustrations on the wax seal, forgetting to be careful. Determined to learn the truth, he tore open the seal and barely salvaged the letter from ripping completely in two. The message inside remained legible. His eyes furtively glanced over the middle of the missive, and his heart seized when he noticed a capital G. Beginning to feel tears well in his eyes, he nearly laughed at his anxieties when he read the rest of the name to be George Wickham, not Georgiana.

Darcy let out a sigh of relief. His sister lived. And one of the biggest problems in his life had been solved. Georgiana Wickham, the widow, was infinitely better in his estimation than Georgiana Wickham, the wife.

The rest of the letter answered the question of the unfamiliar handwriting. The letter had been signed by Mrs. Louisa Hurst, and he read the message a second time though it imparted little more information than that George Wickham had been shot in the early hours of a July morning shortly after leaving a party at the Carmichael residence.

Dropping the penknife with a clatter to his desktop, Darcy began to gather as many letters as his hands would hold and quickly shuffled through them to find additional letters from family. One letter from his aunt and uncle and two from his cousin Richard were his only gain. Richard had sent one of the letters as an express. It had arrived just that day and been initially placed on top of all the letters.

Darcy opened Richard's letter next to learn he had gone to London to retire Georgiana to the care of their aunt in Kent. Darcy nodded his head to silently agree with his cousin's appraisal of the situation even though he was alone, at his desk, in his study. Darcy set it aside in a new pile as it would require a response. He would not write back to Mrs. Hurst.

The letter from his uncle and aunt were of a more peculiar nature. Darcy double checked the date and found the information not to his liking.

 _Dear Fitzwilliam,_

 _I am pleased to announce that your cousin James is happily married Lady Mary Louise and we have enjoyed a splendid time here at Alnwick Castle as His Grace's distinguished guests. However, your aunt I have decided to make haste for London as during one of the evenings in the many celebratory nights leading up to the wedding ceremony, Northumberland cornered me to ask specific questions as to the heritage of George Wickham. His Grace also let me know that you had visited him before you left London, and though you had put to him on a mission of great importance, he chuckled and said that he had found a more lucrative motive to be involved in the scheme._

 _Rumors swirl here I dare not commit to pen, and I was surprised to see Lord Strange and his father arrive as guests the very evening we began our preparations for departure. I am not satisfied that all is well with our niece and her husband, and so your aunt and I have elected to see to their welfare in London._

 _We hope this letter finds you and Miss Bennet well and desire to convey our deepest wish for our family to reunite at the earliest convenience. Your aunt and I cast our support to you both and encourage your counsel on all matters regarding this great family of ours. If you need to reach us, by the time you receive this letter, we will have left Northumberland and likely reached Matlock House in London. Please send all correspondence with that direction._

 _Regards,_

 _Henry Fitzwilliam_

 _Earl of Matlock_

The particulars of his uncle's letter unnerved Darcy, so he read it a second time. And a third. Finally, the situation became all too clear!

"That scoundrel!" Darcy exclaimed as he began to pull the letters from Richard, his uncle, and the death notification to line them in chronological order across his desk. His frustration had not been about George Wickham, an unfortunate death but not one he would mourn. No, his ire came from the Duke of Northumberland, a man more than a few had warned Darcy repeatedly to never engage. Stupidly, Fitzwilliam had miscalculated the Duke's aims. He wrongly suspected the man would seek restoration to the good graces of the Court. Instead, Darcy realized the Duke intended to embarrass the Prince Regent and frame the Wickhams, and by proxy the Fitzwilliam family, for the mining scheme in Derbyshire!

Flustered, Darcy shoved all of the other letters to the far corner of his desk. He pulled out fresh parchment to quickly pen responses to both Richard and his uncle. There remained precious little time for them to put in place additional safeguards for the family's holdings away from the nasty business to do with Lord Strange. Additionally, he sent a letter to Elizabeth's uncle, Edward Gardiner, as Darcy feared they would need far more witnesses to the dealings at the docks then a single purser for a merchant ship. Darcy had underestimated his adversaries already once before, and he would not underestimate them again.

As he finished his letters, a weary and sore Fitzwilliam Darcy began to consider how he would break the news to Elizabeth that they could not stay in Scotland, that they must hurry back to London. But as he practiced the words, a faint memory of him shredding up his sister's letter requesting to go to Pemberley and flashes of the many times he almost lost Elizabeth made a different case to his conscience. The trappings of marriage were most certainly the family one married into. Yet, Darcy was not powerless.

Both his uncle and his cousin were in London to handle the details, there was no reason his presence would add assistance. If this matter ever went before Parliament, there may indeed come a time when Fitzwilliam would be forced to prove how he had distanced himself from his sister and her husband and had held no part in this scheme. He also speculated a larger chess game was afoot. Rushing to London may be another trap while the elder and junior Stanleys were in Northumberland instead of at their country estate in Derby. Fitzwilliam rationalized dashing to London would appear to be the actions of a guilty man as he would most certainly arrive long after his sister removed to Kent.

A knock on the door interrupted Fitzwilliam's vacillation and the bright face of his young wife, enhanced by her time spent in Nature, appeared from behind the door.

"You must not become a slave to your correspondence, sir. You've been here for many hours, and your wife demands your company." Elizabeth teased her husband with a broad smile that swiftly melted into a concerning frown as she spied the flurry of letters across his desk and the immense worry painted upon Fitzwilliam's face. "My heavens! Whatever is the matter?"

As Elizabeth walked into the study, Darcy panicked. He had not fully processed all of the information about the death of George Wickham and his family's precarious place to feel prepared to share the situation with his wife. Nor did he seek to burden her with such sadness. A new bride should never wear mourning, and especially not for a cad like Wickham. But he would not lie. And so he began with a small piece of the truth.

"My sister has been removed from the townhome and taken to Kent by our cousin Richard." Fitzwilliam gulped as Elizabeth practically threw herself into his arms, and he accepted her embrace without hesitation.

Pressing her face against his chest, as was her favorite show of affection when they might be spied by others, Elizabeth spoke.

"How awful! I knew that they were both troublesome creatures, but for a couple to live apart so soon after getting married, your family must be in an uproar."

Tentatively, Darcy responded. "Ye-yes, but my aunt and uncle have gone to London, and Richard is Georgiana's other guardian."

"Then we must go to London. Surely they will need our help and what will be done about Mr. Wickham?" Elizabeth asked, as she pulled back and her eyes searched Fitzwilliam for further signs of his distress. But the man's face had relaxed, and she vainly credited a restoration of his mood to her presence.

He shook his head.

"I do not wish to curtail our time in Scotland for yet another scandal of my family's doing. I trust that Richard and my uncle are more than capable of handling this mess." Darcy realized he ought to tell Elizabeth about George's death, but he worried that she might faint or worse, insist that they leave their idyllic haven of Carver House. Selfishly, Fitzwilliam refused to give up his own happiness for the sake of his family that seemed keen to keep them both miserable. His heart broke for his sister becoming a widow at so young an age, especially as it sounded like she witnessed the murder in Mrs. Hurst's account. But it all happened over a month ago, and it would take them at least another month to close the house and travel back to London with a stop at Pemberley. Darcy felt no inclination to take his wife back to Rosings while that Parson still ruled the flock! No, he would wait and tell her the news after his shock wore off and he could provide her a firm countenance for her reaction.

"Perhaps we ought to write a letter in support of Georgiana? We can both sign it and send it to Kent? I would imagine she would welcome the kindness." Elizabeth interrupted Darcy's thoughts with a solution of her own.

After clearing his throat and finding his eyes beginning to water once more, this time at the magnanimous care his wife seemed to possess at even the darkest of moments, Darcy agreed with her. Elizabeth began to turn her head, but Darcy quickly grasped her cheeks to kiss her lips. He continued to kiss her as he carefully shuffled the black embossed letter to a less visible place in the mess up on his desk.

When finally they parted, Elizabeth gasped for breath and had another solution for how she might comfort her husband. A letter to Georgiana would most certainly be penned, but it could wait until the evening and go out with the next day's post.

**************************  
I KNOW! He didn't tell Elizabeth. This is not going to go well... but he has reasons, he does! And it was very typical in Regency times for new brides to not be told of deaths in the first month after their wedding, they were even expected not to socialize. . . . which we will soon learn is making our lass who loves to dance a bit stir crazy...

I will keep writing if you are still reading. Thank you ever so much for your reviews and messages of support. MMMCHWAW

XOXOXO  
Elizabeth Ann West


	30. Chapter 30

So hubby now knows the plan of I need to write 2 scenes per day, M-F. This is good, because he has full permission to help support this endeavor AND pester to make it happen. He's even said he might throw in some incentives when I make my quota... ::fans self:: So WHEN this book finishes this month and publishes at the end, you all can thank Lt. West for his great work in keeping this writer, writing. :) :) :) 7/3 I dictated 2900 words, did a quick copy edit of this chapter (please if you see something say so in a review, those are all fixes that ARE happening, you all are gorgeous, fantastic readers for helping me!), and I'm now posting this!

What a way to WIN a Monday! Hope yours is giving you an awesome time too. Oh, and tomorrow is my 3rd anniversary of publishing my first JAFF. Happy Independence Day, indeed!

XOXOXOXOX,  
Elizabeth Ann West

The next day, Darcy surprised his wife with a trip to the vibrant brook running along the northwest corner of the property. They saddled their horses, and two servants with a wagon of equipment followed them along the narrow road that lined the perimeter of Mr. Darcy's holdings in Scotland.

"You are ever a man of your surprises. I do wish you gave me some indication as to our agenda for the day." Elizabeth bristled at her uncomfortable dress of a pair of her husband's old breeches with a not-so-old gown cut short and tucked in like a peasant's blouse. Carver House offered much privacy, but Elizabeth still feared to come across a stranger who might negatively judge her for such odd attire. Though the costume was similar to her fencing attire, bouts occurred entirely indoors; this new activity made her feel embarrassed from the exposure.

"When I married you, I thought you to be a woman of great sense and keen observation. I assumed you peeked at the equipment in the wagon before we began our journey." Mr. Darcy smirked as he knew for a fact that his curious wife had done such a thing while he was busy answering a question from his groom.

"I might have looked at the equipment conspicuously concealed in the wagon believing we might be having a skirmish with our sabers in Nature's great cathedral. Finding no swords, but instead a healthy amount of angler's equipment, I can only surmise that we are to go bother the fish."

"See, you did not need me to detail the surprise at all. You successfully ruined it all on your own," Mr. Darcy laughed as Elizabeth clicked her tongue and encouraged her horse to go faster than his, only to pull back when she realized she still did not know where they were going. She had no choice but to let her teasing husband lead the way, and reconciled her pique with the memory that she still held his surprise in her dressing room from the silversmith.

Her patience became soon rewarded when after a sharp bend, a glistening marvel appeared cutting through a copse of trees. The bubbling brook played a symphony of water music as the rocks and terrain permitted a vast shoal to extended nearly bank to bank. Sea trout swam in the crystal clear waters, flipping and splashing out of the water to overcome the rocks in the shallower stretches of the river before continuing upstream.

"Oh!" Elizabeth's excitement made her entirely forget about waiting for her husband's assistance, and she slid herself down off of her horse. Mr. Darcy bumped gently into her as she practically landed in his arms. He took his wife's hand and squeezed it lightly as he enjoyed fewer delights in the world than watching Elizabeth's first reactions.

"There is an abundance of beauty on this estate, sir. I'm beginning to believe we might need to start an inventory," Elizabeth remarked as the servants unpacked the blankets and fishing equipment while the horses found a nearby place to graze.

"My great uncle brought me here as a boy, one of the last Carver men. Have you ever been fly fishing, Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth shook her head.

"My Uncle Gardiner is fond of fishing, but I'm afraid I've never had an opportunity to try the sport. I have heard it requires a good deal of patience." Elizabeth scrunched up her nose as she enumerated one of her worries for their afternoon of fun.

"Yes, indeed. Ordinary fishing on backwater is an exercise of frustration I also do not enjoy. But fly fishing . . . " Fitzwilliam trailed off as he accepted a long, willowy reel from a servant, " I believe you will find it involves far more excitement and activity."

Although Darcy intended to be the one to teach Elizabeth the intricacies of casting and running her line, he suddenly worried his own memories faded from time might hold gaps. This fear, as opposed to Elizabeth's, proved true. Thankfully, the gamekeeper of Carver had accompanied them for the afternoon. After gently reminding Mr. Darcy in some of the finer points of catching one's dinner from a moving stream of water, Fitzwilliam delighted in helping his wife to wade out into the shoals. Together, within a half hour's time, they hooked her first bite.

"It's pulling! It's pulling!" Elizabeth shrieked as Darcy fumbled to hand his line off to a servant and step behind his wife to assist her.

"Reel, woman. Reel!" Darcy urged as Elizabeth misunderstood and began pulling the rod with such great strength her elbows flew backward, directly into Mr. Darcy's ribs, who lost his balance and fell into the stream. Hearing the splash behind her, Elizabeth panicked and turned around to look, nearly losing the rod and tackle completely out of her hands, before she remembered to hold tightly.

"Fitzwilliam! Oh dear!" She stopped as another strong pull reminded her of the very real fish at the end of her line. She furrowed her brow and refused to yield.

Thankfully, she remembered the water was extremely shallow as she was standing in it and it was scarcely up to her knees, so Mr. Darcy could not be drowned behind her. Besides, he could swim, she reasoned, as her nerves focused solely on the fish.

"How do I pull the fish in?" Her desperation grew as she followed the creature's movements left and right, afraid to loosen her grip so that her hands began to ache.

As one servant rushed out to help Mr. Darcy right himself in the river, the gamekeeper waded out to assist Mrs. Darcy in reeling in her first big catch. Fitzwilliam watched sourly from the bank as there was little he could do but let the gamekeeper, Mr. Rexford, take the place he had hoped to fill. Elizabeth returned to the bank in a few moments with Mr. Rexford, holding a sixteen-inch sea trout. She kept her rod straight up and down with pure pride.

"Do we keep it or do we release it?" Elizabeth asked earnestly as finally Fitzwilliam, drenched from his torso down, could not remain cross at the twist of fate when his wife was so exuberantly charming.

"A monster that size?" His compliment reassured his wife who began to worry he was cross at her. "Why, we shall have it on our dinner table tonight!" Fitzwilliam pronounced as Elizabeth squealed in her triumph and accepted her husband's assistance to ready her line for another go.

As Elizabeth began to take her first careful steps across the slippery stones, she turned back to beckon Fitzwilliam to join her. At first, he tried to say he would watch her from the bank, but Elizabeth would not allow him to become melancholy.

"I have no idea how Mr. Rexford caught that fish. I merely held onto the rod. Leave your line, Fitzwilliam, for it is I who shall hook the fish, and you can reel them in." The grand mistress of one of the largest estates in the county steeled the tip of the rod against her hip so that she could hold it with one hand as her other waived fervently to encourage her husband to join her.

Realizing he would be mad to turn down the invitation of such a lovely lass, Fitzwilliam gave permission for the groom to take a go with his line, while he stood and helped his wife, ever mindful now of her elbows.

Four catches later and hungry from the activity, the Darcys retired to the idyllic bank for a picnic of cold meats and cheeses. Both of them were still quite wet from the knee down, but most of Mr. Darcy's clothes above his knee had dried since his tumble into the brook.

As Fitzwilliam tore into a chunk of soda bread, Elizabeth looked around and tilted her head to one side as she leaned her weight back on her hands.

"I have a confession to make, husband, and I hope you won't find it too ungrateful."

Mr. Darcy swallowed and assured Elizabeth that whatever it was that she wished to tell him, he would listen to it with all judgment and bias aside.

"This time, alone with you," Elizabeth involuntarily raised an eyebrow at the irony of such a statement as they were surrounded by servants. "It has been blissful and more than I could have ever imagined. But . . ." she took a deep breath and prayed she would not offend him, "I fear that I miss people."

Darcy nodded and took another bite of his meal to silently encourage his wife to continue.

"And so I was wondering," Elizabeth couldn't bear to hold his gaze and reached over her side of the blanket to pluck a purple harebell from the patch running almost to the water's edge. "If we are to remain in Scotland for the foreseeable future, might we consider entertaining. Perhaps a house party of the local gentry?" Elizabeth watched as Fitzwilliam's expression changed negatively at his wife's request, and she gently rolled the flower between her palms. Looking down at the droopy petals, she laughed and pointed the wilted excuse for a saber at him. "You, sir, owe me a dance."

"I do? However have you come to that conclusion, madam?" Darcy asked, genuinely interested in his wife's logic.

"The night before you ran me over with your horse, you were late. Mr. Bingley had assured all of the local townsfolk that a number of his friends would be joining him at Netherfield Park. You were supposed to be in that assembly, and we might have danced and met under normal, ordinary circumstances."

"Or I might have been shy, and spoke out of turn, offending you for all of eternity," he countered her fantastical supposition.

"You could not offend me, sir. I am far too pleasant in disposition to take the foibles of others seriously."

Still, Darcy shook his head.

"I am afraid to disappoint you, but I had not responded to Charles' invitation, and therefore he spoke out of turn in assuring the presence of his friends at the assembly. I cannot agree with you that I am in your debt."

But Elizabeth Darcy refused to be persuaded. She sighed, pretending to feel conquered by her husband's superior logic when she tucked her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around the soggy breeches and stockings to rest her head upon the fold. She dropped the flower to the blanket and turned impishly in the direction of her husband.

"And I suppose next you will say we cannot entertain our neighbors because you do not wish to dance with your new wife?"

Darcy's mouth dropped as he realized he had been caught, much like the poor sea trout in the river.

Darcy took another bite of his bread in consternation and considered his wife most carefully as she refused to break his gaze. After swallowing the dry morsel, he leaned forward and pecked the tip of his wife's nose, causing her to blush and flinch at his sudden movement.

"Madam, I humbly bow down in all of your angling skills. You have hooked me; your every wish is my pleasure to deliver. Now, would you like to return to the house so that we might begin our plans, or would you care to harass the trout some more?"

Elizabeth looked to their horses and then back at the river and found herself unwilling to give up her new hobby of catching fish. But this time, she said that Mr. Darcy should work the reel, and she would hold the net rather than the gamekeeper for any of their catches.

Two hours later, Mr. and Mrs. Darcy rode back to the main house as Mr. Rexford returned to his duties along the property. Elizabeth rode sitting upright, confident from a victorious day in great contrast to the self-doubt she felt on the way to the fishing spot.

Mr. Darcy, unfortunately, tired under the difficult task of assuaging his disappointments. Not only did he not catch a single fish in the afternoon, although Elizabeth did her best to claim it was novice luck, he had also allowed his wife to convince him to throw a house party with complete strangers from the local area. Despite still not wishing to leave Scotland and return to London, Fitzwilliam began to feel Fate exacting a higher price to preserve his sanity than he had originally calculated.

**********  
I am going to be a little sad when the next book in this series is far less honeymoon and whole heck of a lot more reality. Le Sigh. Oh well, we will always have Scotland! :) (If you haven't read A Whiskey Wedding, that's another story of mine with Scotland, and also A January for Jane, Graham Hamilton is a hunk!). And let's see, a whole house full of strangers with dark secrets being kept... gee, what could possibly go wrong?

;)


	31. Chapter 31

The deepest days of August offered sweltering temperatures and stagnant air in the Cheapside home of Mr. and Mrs. Edward Gardiner. The city's stench and their lack of travel plans vexed the family day in and day out. But the happy couple did their best to conduct themselves in a manner of calmness, despite nary even a breeze for relief. One source of pain remained in their continued estrangement from the Bennet line of their family.

A delivery of post offered hope for a change in their family's predicament. First, came the news of their niece, Jane Bingley, and her safe delivery of not one, but two children. Though Madeline Gardiner had shared the tidings with her husband already, she waited for him to come home for his midday meal with a trill of excitement in her bones. On this day, she held two new pieces of post promising a potential end to the estrangement and captivity to the City.

Using every ounce of her self-control to not pounce upon Edward the moment the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the home, Madeleine bustled to the back dining room to check on their meal for completion. Lately, Edward had begun to work from home in the afternoon instead of going back to his warehouses, a new development that satisfied Mrs. Gardiner a great deal. Since the assassination of the Prime Minister, the hot summer seemed to affect all, and even in broad daylight, the streets of London felt less safe. Too many wars and the shuffling of fortunes placed great stress every class, and though her husband assured her he had hired more protection for his goods, Madeline Gardiner feared it was only a matter of time before the burned and robbed warehouses listed in the papers would soon affect their family's holdings.

Only after her husband had enjoyed a glass of wine did Madeleine pull from her gown's pocket the two letters she wished to share.

"It took over a month, but Lizzie has written. Despite our fool brother, Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy made it safely to Scotland and are now husband and wife!" Madeline Gardiner had never given up hope. After the spring's nasty business of her niece running off to Kent and the gossip and scandal affecting her husband's business interests, she had understood Edward's insistence that they distance themselves. With the two married, Madeline saw no reason for them to hesitate in renewing a relationship with one of her favorite nieces, with the added incentive that Mr. Darcy's estate lay in her home county of Derbyshire. But Madeleine's smile faltered when she noticed her husband's sigh and squirming in his chair to release pressure in his digestive system. "Did the meat pie upset your stomach? I told Cook to be very careful about the cuts of meat she accepted from the butcher."

"No, Maddie, the food was suitable. I, too, received a letter today, from Mr. Darcy, sent by express." Edward Gardiner quickly held his hand up and closed his eyes in exasperation as his wife sat up slightly straighter and began to smile once more. "I know what you are thinking, and you must vacate those thoughts."

"But why? You know I hold the hope of–"

"It cannot be."

Madeline Gardiner frowned and looked down at the other letter in her hand as she understood her husband's meaning, that there would not be a reconciliation with the Darcys, but struggled to wait for his explanation.

Edward Gardiner stood from his chair and collected the decanter of wine from sideboard to pour himself another drink instead of calling for a footman. Although the Gardiners lived better off than most in London, unless they were entertaining others, Edward did not see the need to wait on someone else's movements to quench his thirst. He downed a half of the glass before he placed both the decanter and his glass on the table, but remained standing.

"As I tried to tell you, there is yet another foul odor swirling the streets of Mayfair. The husband of Darcy's sister was shot dead and worse," Edward waited as Madeline gasped before continuing to make sure his wife did not need his assistance. But Madeline Gardner was made of sterner stuff than to faint at the mere mention of murder. "When that young man, Fitzwilliam, came to me for assistance in shipping his goods, I offered. And he apprised me of a scheme rippling through the upper echelons of society, a scheme where no man but a fool would invest money. And apparently, there are many fools. But now the hen has come to roost, the death of George Wickham implicates Mr. Darcy's family as the main conspirators."

Madeline Gardiner leaned back with her mouth dropped open in abject horror. Quickly, she closed her mouth as her husband continued to drink his wine and she violently shook her head.

"I cannot believe it to be true. I have met Mr. Darcy, and no one could believe that man would entangle himself in anything criminal."

Edward shrugged. "The man's reputation was high, but the business with the papers and our niece I fear did very little to keep it so. My letter from him made a few requests that I am happy to grant, but I agree with his sentiment that it would be unwise for us to go to Pemberley early this autumn or next spring and we shall all have to wait the slow march of time before things are likely to calm once more."

Silence descended over the dining room as Madeline tenderly lifted the second letter and held it between her fingertips as almost a talisman before looking up at her husband with earnest eyes.

"But the Bennets? Might we reconcile with them?" It might be her sentimentality, but family stood paramount for Madeleine Gardner. All of her close relatives had passed away, but Edward's large coterie of nieces had always fulfilled Madeline Gardiner with the joy of a large family.

Her husband opened his mouth to speak, but his wife began to tumble out her words at such a speed that he never got a word out first.

"In the letter from Jane, they are to christen the babes, young Charlie and Lynnie. Kitty and the Bingley sisters are to stand up as godparents, but we have been invited to stay at Netherfield Park. If we cannot support one of our nieces in marriage, surely we can support the other in motherhood?"

Mr. Gardiner wiped his mouth with the palm of his hand and lingered on his chin as he thought. For her part, Madeline Gardner held her tongue and awaited the verdict from her husband.

"I thought you were very angry with Thomas?"

Madeline Gardner nodded and then shrugged her shoulders.

"He is misguided. But Elizabeth is married and so is Jane. With any luck, our presence might help restore his better senses into supporting all of his daughters." Madeline had received many letters from Jane that detailed the schism in the family over Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy had affected nearly all of the sisters. Some, like Mary and Lydia, supported their parents without question. But for Jane and Kitty, there came a difficulty in honoring one's parents while understanding the events themselves placed equal blame on the wayward Lizzie and their mother and father.

"When would we have to leave?" Edward began to calculate the preparations he would need to make for his family to take a short holiday in Hertfordshire. It was hardly a fascinating place, and he had thoughts of flying off to a seaside town to the south, but visiting family appeared to be the most important to his wife. And if Edward Gardiner knew anything, it was that keeping his wife satisfied dramatically increased his satisfaction by proxy.

"I believe three days, and I should pen the response this afternoon to Jane. I should think that we should stay a fortnight."

Edward Gardiner finished his glass of wine and then walked around the table to peck his wife's expectant cheek leaned just so for his attentions. "I trust you will make all of the superior arrangements; now I must go to my study and make my own if I am to leave for half a month."

Madeline patted her husband's hand as it rested on her armrest and beamed at him. Both of the Gardiner felt a little relief in finally cementing travel plans for their family to vacate the city. It might not be so much time as a trip to the Peaks or a month or two at the coast, but it was far better than spending even another moment among the hot paved streets of London.

We are moving into the last quarter of the story... and after this, I plan to write another novella in The Seasons of Serendipity. Also, I have exciting news... thanks to a program owned by MacMillan called Pronoun, I will slowly be working on publishing my backlist through them so that my books can soon be found on Overdrive and Bibliotheca used by libraries. I will also be restoring my titles to Scribd that are accepted and Tolino, so readers will have a multitude of ways to read whichever way is most comfortable for them! Here we go, go go gadget author! :)

XOXOXO  
Elizabeth Ann West


	32. Chapter 32

The invitations for a grand fete at Carver House rippled excitement through the community for the first time in over a decade. Orders at the various shops and craftsmen in Dumfries lifted the spirits of the working class, while those titled or with land anxiously awaited their invitation to the house party hosted by the mysterious Mr. Darcy and his new wife. Very little was known about them, other than that the Darcy family had long been owners of the Carver House and more liked than most Royalists.

For Elizabeth Darcy, the amount of work necessary to execute such a grand opening of the home with a hunt and numerous days of overnight hosting, dinners, picnics, and finally a great ball on the last evening to commemorate the coming harvest made her nearly regret making such a request in the first place. Her fingers ached. Her head throbbed. Even her backside felt sore from all of the time in a hard wooden chair from the number of responses required when the guests were not due to arrive for another week. She had penned all of the invitations. Then came the responses, which most of them necessitated another reply, and more than a handful had suddenly turned into the beginnings of a friendship via correspondence. Elizabeth found she could not wait to meet in person Sir Andrew Agnew's wife, Madeline, nor Mrs. Mary Anne Ogilvy-Grant. The undertones of Lady Margaret Douglass however, brought a suspicion to Elizabeth there was little she could do correctly in that woman's eyes as her three letters had insisted on a particular suite of rooms and referred to the property by it's older moniker, Carver Castle.

With additional work of a mistress came added work for her maid. Higgins served her lady by assisting with some of the mundane responses and tending to Mrs. Darcy with increased diligence. Not only did she like Mrs. Darcy very much, but the more she remained in Elizabeth's company, the less time she had to be in Mrs. McSorley's company. Mrs. McSorley always held a lengthy list of tasks to delegate to Higgins when the opportunity arose.

"Higgins, I need to review the schedule one more time. Lord Randolph has requested a moment to honor our presence in the neighborhood; I wish to allow suitable time before dinner because I suspect one toast might lead to many others."

Betsy Higgins rifled through the papers on Elizabeth's hand-carved walnut desk, a lent piece of furniture from the library recently brought to her bedroom suite. Quickly she found meticulously penned timetable for the weekend. As Higgins handed the parchments to her mistress, she began to stifle a giggle which caught the attention of Elizabeth.

"The Lord knows I need a good laugh. Pray, what has amused you so?"

Betsy managed to speak in a more somber manner that threatened to crack at any moment as she addressed Mrs. Darcy.

"I was only thinking that if one toast might lead to another, and another, we might also need to adjust the cases of wine we have on order?"

Elizabeth blinked and looked dumbfounded at her maid until the corner of her mouth twitched, and both she and Betsy shared a good laugh.

"Oh dear," Elizabeth continued to chuckle, "I suspect we may not have ordered enough spirits at all! I have planned for an English house party, but who knows how a Scottish one might differ?" Elizabeth made furious notes on a scrap piece of parchment to remind herself to visit Mrs. McSorley and remedy the oversight. Finding more cases of whisky and wine, as the estate's production had slowed in the more dormant years of use, might prove a challenge. But surely there was still time for staff to travel to other towns if necessary.

As Higgins began to continue her tasks, Elizabeth reviewed her timetable while lounging in a divan by the window.

A knock on her open door attracted her attention as Mr. Darcy strolled into the room. Elizabeth froze with panic. She glanced to Higgins who played her part and disappeared to Elizabeth's dressing room. But this was not just so that the maid might offer privacy to Mr. and Mrs. Darcy. No, Betsy played in an even greater scheme of continuing to conceal Elizabeth's gift for her husband that she planned to present before the ball in his study.

"I have come, madam, to invite you to a bout of fencing if you are so inclined." Fitzwilliam bowed to punctuate his very formal invitation.

Elizabeth sighed.

"I should like nothing better than to practice cutting my husband to ribbons; I'm afraid I have far too much work for me to throw off and play now." Elizabeth gestured with her open hand in the direction of her writing desk as Fitzwilliam frowned. He clasped his hands behind his back and partially turned a quarter on his heel, making a guttural sound of disappointment with his tongue. Twisting back around to look at his wife, he began to slowly walk toward her with the sign of supreme disapproval upon his face.

"If this house party be such a burden on my wife, I fear I have no other choice than to cancel it."

"Oh no!" Elizabeth set aside the timetable of the weekend and pushed herself to spring swiftly from the low sofa. "If you canceled the party, I should have twice as many letters to write and three times the amount of work just to stop all of the preparations that are already in place. Fitzwilliam!"

Elizabeth accepted her husband's hand that he offered, realizing he was merely teasing her. And it had worked. Her cheeks began to burn red; he led her over to the broad windows overlooking the south lawn.

"I held a monstrous ignorance when you asked me to do this. I was much too young to have noticed my mother's burdens when my family entertained. And once she became ill though…" Darcy trailed off.

Elizabeth pulled his arms around her and pressed her back into his chest as a way to show affection. Unlike Fitzwilliam, Elizabeth held extensive experience in planning numerous events with her mother. Longbourn, though, kept not quite to the same scale a house like Carver required.

"Much of the work is new for me so far as the amount. In practice, planning such an event is not too much unlike the dinners and picnics my mother arranged in Hertfordshire. All said Fanny Bennet set an excellent table." Elizabeth held her breath, briefly, as the next words stung more than she anticipated under her current position with her family. "I hope to continue the tradition," Elizabeth confessed.

Darcy released his wife and took a few steps back, allowing Elizabeth to turn around and face him.

"Would you wish to hold events such as these very often?" Fitzwilliam asked gently, as Elizabeth struggled not to laugh at his seriousness.

"Perhaps not too often, but I am a creature who dearly loves to dance. And I shall never become so extravagant as to drain the coffers." Darcy coughed as Elizabeth spoke so crudely of their financial situation.

"Your spending might have to rival Marie Antoinette's for you to drain our coffers, madam."

"I shall not take that as a challenge, sir. But what about you? Please do not think I have not noticed your discomfort in all of these plans."

Darcy shrugged. With each passing day guilt over not confessing the particulars of Wickham's death and his family situation in London lessened. And the more he saw Elizabeth throw herself into the plans for entertaining the local gentry Darcy rationalized keeping his new bride in the dark. But he could not profess an admiration of any plans that regularly subjected his household to the visits of strangers. So he chose his words carefully.

"I am elated to see you so diligent in your aims. But I should prefer more privacy than publicity for our future lives." Then he thought to add "So long as I do not impugn your desire to dance." Elizabeth rewarded him with a slight curtsy and smile at his promise.

Fitzwilliam held out his hand again and bowed much like the beginning of a reel, and Elizabeth granted her hand and joined him in the first few steps of a shuffle to the right, a shuffle to the left, and then a slow promenade to circle imaginary dancers in their line. She giggled and then her gaze fell upon the open letters and other papers on her writing desk. Immediately, she frowned.

Fitzwilliam looked over his shoulder to see the direction in which his wife looked and grimly nodded. He knew what he had to do.

Shocking Elizabeth, Darcy clasped his hands and then quickly stood at his wife's side to talk her arm into his. As if strolling off the dance floor, he began to rescue his Elizabeth.

"While you may not have time for fencing, I do believe a walk in the garden is very much in order, what say you, Mrs. Darcy?" Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow as he looked down at his wife. Her feet did not protest as he escorted her out of her rooms. He felt rewarded with a slight tilt of her head against his shoulder before she turned her face and looked up at him.

"You know my weakness for a good walk. I'm afraid I am helpless to avoid your charms, Fitzwilliam Darcy."

Darcy smiled. "I believe that is a future I can unequivocally state I hope you never tire from."

**********  
Le sigh. I love them so much, I really hate sometimes that the author's job is to throw rocks at the characters . . . but yes coming up we have the fete in Scotland, the christening of the babies, and the Matlocks reaching London. The dddddrama is about to ratchet up some notches, and we're going to finally realize just how sick Mr. Bennet has been since Elizabeth first admitted to Jane she spied him collapsing in a field just before the Assembly and that's why she set her sights on John Lucas for security's sake. . .

HERE WE GO! Oh, and if you would like to be acknowledged in the back of Trappings with Marriage the published version, be sure to leave your review! I always make a list of all of the WONDERFUL readers here who are so thoughtful as to leave a review. It keeps me going, and for that, I can't thank you enough.

XOXOXO,  
Elizabeth Ann West


	33. Chapter 33

A/N: The great news? The full draft is DONE! I just have to rough edit the last 7 chapters I dictated in a flurry on Sunday (yes, I sat my happy butt down and said FINISH THIS) :) I got a strawberry shortcake to celebrate! This chapter has been through one pass by me and one pass through a robot, once I get through all of the chapters, they go to the copy editor, then the betas. The last chapter of this book WILL publish on publication day which is looking to be around August 20-23 timeframe. So if you want your username thanked like you SHOULD be in the back of the published book, please remember to leave a review. I hand go through all of them probably this Friday, August 4. :)

Here's another chapter, I hope to post more tomorrow, little one has playgroup so this Momma can EDIT! :) As always, XOXOX thank you so much for reading, all of you make this job the very best one to have!

Love,

Elizabeth Ann West

********************

The Matlock carriage slowed before an indiscriminate brownstone closer to Cheapside than Mayfair. Lady Matlock called to her driver through the window.

"Around the block once more."

Margaret Fitzwilliam did not explain herself, and the driver complied. The sudden pull back into traffic caught a farmer's wagon by surprise. Horse neighs and shouts attracted some notice from pedestrians on the sidewalks, but a fine carriage with livery did not receive the same derision the simple farmer in the wagon cart endured as he was felt to be at fault.

Feeling her stomach queasy from nerves, Margaret Fitzwilliam inventoried her options. She and her husband had raced from northern England back to the city only to find all of their family members retreated to the countryside. They called on Darcy House and spoke with the housekeeper. There was very little information that servant could give other than what they already knew: George Wickham was dead, long buried, there were no suspects, and parchment found on his person implicated him in the mining scheme that was the operation of Lord Strange.

In truth, Margaret felt as if she knew all that was needed for the situation and wished for nothing more than to retire for the autumn and winter at their country estate in Matlock. A full year of chasing their wayward niece plus a bitter winter and the theatrics of spring, Margaret Fitzwilliam's bones ached with exhaustion. But at the behest of her husband, she had one last errand to fulfill. She was to call upon Miss Caroline Bingley, the tradesman's daughter her son and nephew placed in charge of Georgiana while those gentlemen were too busy with their lives to bother.

As the carriage took a fourth and final turn, Margaret Fitzwilliam pursed her lips and wished she had told her husband this trip was out of the question. She never told him how Caroline Bingley had come to call before they left for Alnwick Castle and predicted disaster. Being incorrect was not the only embarrassment for the Countess, as she had practically thrown the woman out of their home in a bout of snobbery. To now come crying for information about her own family was not only an insult but a degradation.

When the Fitzwilliam coach finally came to a resting place in front of the same town house they almost stopped at twice before, the little red door opened. A woman looking similar to Miss Bingley, but with darker features, scurried down the walk with a shawl about her shoulders.

A footman hustled to hop down from his perch and open the carriage door for his mistress, but before her ladyship could step down from the carriage, the mysterious woman addressed her directly.

"Pardon me, your ladyship. My name is Louisa Hurst, though we have met twice before. I am the eldest sister of Caroline. If you would not mind, might we take a small drive?" Louisa Hurst looked furtively up and down the street as her ladyship quickly overcame her shock at such forwardness and then moved out of the way so that Mrs. Hurst could board the carriage.

Louisa sat gracefully upon the bench seat across from her ladyship, and the door slammed closed with instructions to take a drive around Hyde Park. Lady Matlock silently looked to Mrs. Hurst for approval to inquire if that would provide them with enough time for their conversation and the woman responded with a sharp nod.

The carriage had merely rolled a few yards before Mrs. Hurst began to explain herself again.

"I hope you can forgive me, but when I recognized the insignia on your carriage, I felt you might have come for an audience with Caroline. But that is impossible."

"Impossible." Margaret Fitzwilliam repeated the word with a slight bemusement to her voice. No one used such words in her direction. "Has Miss Bingley fallen ill?"

Mrs. Hurst tilted her head to one side and could not help herself in making a mischievous smile. "I suppose it could be said that she has been sent away for her health, but she is no longer here, and I'm afraid I do not believe correspondence to be in her best interest, either."

"Mrs. Hurst, this is all so very obtuse. The woman was placed over the care of my niece, and my niece has suffered a great tragedy. It would be most beneficial if I speak to Miss Bingley directly."

Louisa Hurst gulped. She did not wish to reveal that Caroline was with their aunt in Scarborough and if she had listened to her husband, she never would've entered the carriage. Mr. Hurst had given Louisa explicit instructions to distance herself from the Darcys and by proxy, the Fitzwilliams. The Hurst family made their fortunes in money lending for risky business ventures when no other might enter. The Derbyshire mining company was bad business, one Mr. Hurst skipped on supporting, but still, the Hursts could not afford a poor reputation. There was always a fine line between being labeled a criminal instead of a well-connected businessman.

But Louisa saw the situation as much deeper than her husband's observations, knowing there had to be influential people on either side of the coins, and which way they all fell, she did not want her family on the losing side. She reasoned with herself that she'd come this far, she might as well put all of her cards on the table in hopes that if the worst came to it, the Hurst family would have allies on both sides.

"I'm afraid to say that my sister is not in her right mind. She believed herself to be a good match for Mr. Darcy." Louisa paused for a moment as Lady Matlock scoffed at such a notion, though the lady did quickly apologize for any offense. Mrs. Hurst said none was taken as everyone in the family felt Caroline had been ridiculous in her estimation of his regard.

"There was a time when George Wickham attacked Caroline, and she defended herself. This was the attack that precipitated her leaving the house and returning to our town home just before Mr. Darcy and our brother, Mr. Bingley, left town."

Lady Matlock nodded. She knew all of this. Not even the sights of Hyde Park could relieve her annoyance as she listened to a repetition of worthless information.

"Yes, yes, I spoke with your sister before we left town. I was aware that she took on the care of my niece and stayed at the Darcy town home at great personal risk." Lady Matlock raised an eyebrow when Mrs. Hurst shrugged at the exaggeration of Caroline selflessness. Such an acknowledgment of Miss Bingley's overreaching brought Lady Matlock greater assurance that she and Mrs. Hurst might yet come to the mutual understanding.

"It is imperative that I speak with your sister Mrs. Hurst because I am certain there will be an inquiry when Parliament reopens."

"My husband and I fear the same. But you know the Wickhams had nothing to do with orchestrating the mining company?" Lady Matlock nodded, and Mrs. Hurst continued. "My sister believes herself to be in love with Mr. Darcy. She would've done anything to endear herself to him. Anything." Mrs. Hurst emphasized, then sighed. "I'm afraid this attraction grew beyond all reason, and she convinced herself if she was the vehicle to remove George Wickham from Mr. Darcy's life, that he would be impressed and seek a marriage with her."

Lady Matlock inhaled a sharp breath as she grasped at what Mrs. Hurst insinuated.

"Are you suggesting that Miss Bingley had something to do with the murder of my niece's husband?"

Louisa Hurst furiously shook her head. "No. I know that my sister had nothing to do with the murder of George Wickham. Far bigger players on this stage orchestrated that."

Lady Matlock gave a slight nod and looked back out the window. The conversation became more dangerous as neither woman wished to speak the names of who most likely assassinated Mr. Wickham. And to the criminals' benefit, the list of those who stood to gain from his death was not a particularly short one.

"I cannot tell you the proof that my family holds, but Caroline did not do this. However, she believes that she did bring about his death and for her protection, we had to send her away."

"And you are not concerned the authorities will find that suspicious?"

Mrs. Hurst shrugged her shoulders. "My sister had a disastrous season. T'was time for the old spinster to go out to pasture."

In spite of herself, Lady Matlock laughed hollowly with Mrs. Hurst at the unflattering description of Miss Bingley. As the carriage left Hyde Park to begin the trek back to the Hurst town home, Lady Matlock suddenly had a question.

"Why are you telling me all of this? As rudely as I treated your sister, you could have just as easily been not available for visitors and left me dangling from a string."

"My sister is not an innocent and likely deserved your derision. She did not discuss it with me. But I have told you all of this because we both know come autumn, there shall be an inquiry. I don't want my sister's name mentioned."

Lady Matlock scoffed. "I hold no such power!"

"No, but you will at least be able to speak with those who do. And if it looks like the inquiry is to go badly against my family, I would hope your Christian sense of charity would move you to send us a warning." Mrs. Hurst used a polite and kind voice to make her plea, but just underneath the declaration came the slight hint of a demand. Lady Matlock felt impressed. But she would not make any empty promises.

"If I find myself in any position to help those who have helped my family, I take advantage."

This satisfied both women as the carriage came to a complete stop and Mrs. Hurst accepted the footman's assistance to leave the carriage.

Their business conducted, the Matlock carriage disrupted London's traffic once more, and Margaret Fitzwilliam sat back against the cushioned bench. She moved the shade to take another peek at the bustling city and frowned. A great storm felt to be on the horizon and now more than ever she wished to be safely ensconced at Matlock with her horses.

*****  
A little bird says The Whisky Wedding is on super sale until the middle of the month on ALL vendors and countries. I got a Bookbub Friday! I know! I am so excited. Focusing on this book is all that is keeping me sane right about now. Hugs and see you again soon, and for those on Facebook in the Janeside, see you everyday! :) LOL

XOXOX  
Elizabeth Ann West


	34. Chapter 34

AN: This will be the last story I will post on Fanfiction due to the behavior of a few community groups on this site. This is my livelihood, and I share stories here as a means of making sure those who cannot afford books may still read. I can't change who I am in terms of thanking readers and updating them, and neither will I risk all of the work I and others have put in on this site to the hands of a few people who think they know best for all stories. Had it been my actual readers who wrote nasty reviews complaining, then I might worry. But it was authors of other, unrelated genres. As such, I will be building a space on my own site with every book I've ever written to be read by anyone in the world. The groups who have ruined Fanfiction dot net for others ought to be ashamed of themselves. But I will not risk my career and livelihood to their organized bullying tactics.

If you wish to keep up with my stories, I suggest the Facebook group The Janeside or joining my mailing list as that will soon get emails weekly when I post chapters. All existing stories will remain posted on Fanfiction at this time.

XOXOXO  
Elizabeth Ann West

**********************

The discomfort of such a large house party manifested in honoring the traditions of the area for Mr. Darcy especially. The ancestral attire for Scotsmen, no longer prohibited by law, challenged the efficiency of Simmons' usual care, and so it was Mrs. Darcy who invaded Mr. Darcy's suite of rooms to invite him to a small making of mischief.

Fitzwilliam stood before the floor length mirror and scowled at his bare calves that displayed a stark paleness against the forest green kilt that came just to his kneecaps. His wife blew out a low whistle as she took in the lovely sight of her husband's backside and tilted her head to one side to trace the solid outline of his taut calf muscles.

"I see now why Henry VIII wore ribbons on his lower legs. I believe we ladies are losing a sight of beauty with the loss of breaches for these trousers that cover everything up." Elizabeth slipped her arm through Fitzwilliam's as he tugged on the shorter coat that necessity required while he wore the kilt. He had argued with Simmons over every detail down to the cloth covered buttons. Even Elizabeth had overruled his objection to don the traditional attire of his ancestors. In his guilt to make Elizabeth's first house party go off without so much as a hitch, Fitzwilliam acquiesced to wearing the drafty costume.

"Your delight shall be my comfort, Madam. As we greet the distinguished guests you have beckoned upon our castle, I shall shun my discomfort and unease for your whim." Fitzwilliam's overly officious voice made Elizabeth giggle as she knew him to be teasing her. She did not doubt that he felt some level of discomfort in wearing clothing that was not his usual fare, but her gown as well suffered a heavy drape with a long plaid swath, a suggestion of Mrs. McSorley.

The guests of the house party would be a mixture of both traditionalists and proud Scotsmen. There was little doubt that an Englishman would support the Crown, but a small gesture to their Scottish heritage would go a long way in diffusing sources of conflict. They lived in a modern age where the bloodied hills of war layover in the Continent or the Americas. It was a unique moment for English and Scots alike to find commonality over discord.

Elizabeth raised herself up on her tiptoes and tilted her chin just so. Fitzwilliam responded to her movements in the reflection by turning his face and granting his wife a chaste kiss upon her cheek. Elizabeth hummed contentedly at his affection and then explained to him her true aims.

"You may wonder why I have come to see you when you so often come to see me. But I have a small errand we must run, and for that, you shall leave with me at once." Elizabeth gently tugged on his arm, but Fitzwilliam pulled it back not relinquishing immediately to her request.

"Our house is full, Madam, may I remind you of the people you invited. I have no plans to leave this room until it is the call for dinner in a half hour's time or I should be forced to speak more than I have calculated."

Elizabeth hollowly laughed at Fitzwilliam's assessment but then allowed her eyelids to droop in a heavily lidded manner to speak barely above a whisper.

"I anticipated your objections and have planned around them, sir."

Then she raised her voice once more. "Be brave, be bold, and follow your wife into the great unknown!"

Fitzwilliam raised an eyebrow as Simmons hurried to put the rest of Mr. Darcy's things away in an attempt to disappear as quickly as he could. Elizabeth ignored her husband's valet as she had grown accustomed to his ways of blending into the background when he so chose.

"I am to trust you?" Fitzwilliam asked.

"Without hesitation," Elizabeth answered.

When her husband sighed, Elizabeth knew she had won the battle, and she tiptoed over to his door to creak it open and peer out into the hall. Spying the coast was clear, she waved her hands to beckon him to her side. Carefully, she opened the large oak door wider and began to escort her husband in the opposite direction of the grand staircase.

"You left the door open," Fitzwilliam whispered.

Elizabeth looked over her shoulder will quickly to explain. "Anyone on this hall will be listening for a door close as a signal to come out. Simmons will close it."

She quickened her pace and Fitzwilliam followed, grimacing as he found the odd sensation of movement in his new attire to be more thrilling than a gentleman ought to find in a mixed company. Elizabeth turned a discrete handle on a door that appeared to be a wall panel and opened the entrance to the servant stairs that would take them down through to the kitchen.

As the couple disappeared from the hall and used the worn, stone staircase, Elizabeth issued the same warning her maid had given to her. "Mind the steps, they are uneven, and it's very easy to lose one's balance."

"I am not so awful of a master to have dangerous stairs in my-" Mr. Darcy did not finish his thought as just as Elizabeth had predicted, he nearly lost his balance on the sixth step down the stairs following his wife. As he looked down at his feet, he noticed a small chink in the stair had rubbed away, and his right foot had the unfortunate fate to rely on just that place in the stairs.

"Why these are unacceptable!" Fitzwilliam suddenly turned around and began to slowly climb the stairs distracted by the new problem of a portion of his house in desperate need of repair. But Elizabeth called to him from the bottom.

"You will not be able to replaster and fix that step tonight. If you do not hurry, all of my preparations will have been for not!"

Darcy shrugged and took the rest of the ancient stairs with greater care before he joined his wife in the bustling kitchen. Only the younger staff snuck a glance at Mr. and Mrs. Darcy dashing through the rows as they were politely chastised by the more experienced staff not to look. But for the young kitchen maids and hall boys, seeing the master or mistress in their full dinner party attire was something out of a fairytale, and so their curiosity could not be helped.

As she came to the door that Higgins described, Mrs. Darcy again carefully inspected the hall and then led her husband across it to his study. A swift inspection of the room demonstrated that all preparations had been made and she did her best to block the magnificent contraption with her body as there was no proper way to cover it with a cloth while the steam moved through the chambers. Realizing she held precious few minutes before her surprise spoiled, Elizabeth spoke as fast as she might.

"You have given me such a number of gifts that I can scarcely enumerate in this very moment without stumbling over my words and likely forget more than one thoughtful gesture. And so, I hope you will accept this gift as a token of my love, Fitzwilliam. It serves no purpose I'm afraid, but I hope the joy and amusement it brings reminds you of the happiness you give to me."

Fitzwilliam's jaw dropped in abject shock as Elizabeth made a small sidestep and finally witnessed the whirling gears and movements of the silver and gold contraption behind her as the steam puffed out of the top. Fitzwilliam's face lit up like that of a young boy. Elizabeth had to cover her mouth lest she giggle and break the spell. Her husband walked carefully around the entire apparatus looking at it and then up at her and then back at it.

"You selected this . . . for me?" He asked with sincere sentimentality.

Elizabeth nodded.

"I have seen the large clunky steam engines in factories, but this, this is elegant and a marvel!" Fitzwilliam could not help himself but reach forward to touch as Elizabeth shouted.

"No! You mustn't!" And she dashed forward to catch his hand before he managed to scald himself. "The silversmith was quite clear. The pipes will burn you and the steam coming out of the spout is strong enough to make a nasty gash."

Fitzwilliam's eyes traveled to the innocent looking whistling spout of steam and raised an eyebrow. Surely it could not be worse than a teakettle, and he inquired so much as Elizabeth again shook her head.

"I asked the very same. But from this chamber here," Elizabeth carefully pointed without touching the large pot where a small fire boiled the water.

"The steam travels through here, and you will notice that the pipes become significantly thinner as the steam moves through the contraption. This is necessary to make the wheels move, and the gears turn, but it also creates an enormous amount of pressure."

Fitzwilliam nodded and beamed down at his wife as Elizabeth suddenly felt very self-conscious to be explaining the movements to her husband. Her cheeks burned red as she a thought of the warning Mrs. McSorley had given her when she originally planned to present Fitzwilliam with his gift in front of other gentlemen. Mrs. McSorley had tactfully suggested it might be better to present such a gift privately and allow Mr. Darcy to display the model to their guests as it was his gift.

"Do you like it?" Elizabeth asked as the steam whistle slow down to merely a whisper and soon the gears began to slow. She suddenly began to feel that her gift provided very little purpose and paled in comparison to the elegant jewels and other trinkets Mr. Darcy had bestowed upon her.

Fitzwilliam scooped his wife into his arms and crushed her to his chest. "It has been years since anyone has given me a gift! How could I not adore anything you would give me, my Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth smiled as she looked up at him but then wrinkled her nose which he promptly kissed.

"But aside from that, your gift is truly wonderful. I've never seen anything like it, and I shall proudly display it in all of our homes."

Elizabeth sighed and turned her face to rest her cheek against her husband's breastbone as the Darcys remained embraced while the steam contraption came to a complete stop. Her gift has served as a crude timepiece. Their time for private comfort in each other had come to a close as the gong sounded to signal dinner was ready. Fitzwilliam was the first to break their embrace and gallantly offer his arm to his wife.

"Shall we, Mrs. Darcy?"

Elizabeth accepted his arm and reminded him of his unpalatable future. "You will have to speak to the people sitting next seated next to you, Fitzwilliam."

"I know, dearest. I merely hope that in your seating arrangements you were very kind."

Darcy opened the door to the study, and the two walked out to join the rest of the couples congregating in the parlor as the procession of precedence into the dining room began.

****************************

The sale of The Whisky Wedding did remarkable things and I am still on target to release this book at the end of the month. Aiming for the 21st now. All of the reviews on Whisky and this book etc. are the energy I am using to adopt a policy of JUST WRITE. It's what I have to do to get back to being as fast as I used to be, instead of letting a few creepy reviewers shame me for "churning them out." Those who can't should not get in the way of those who can.

MY READERS are who I care about most, those who aren't true fans are welcome to find another author out there for them, their words and criticisms will not get space in my head any longer. :)

let's finish this book!


	35. Chapter 35

A/N: A/N: I sincerely wish it was just a few bad reviews from Guests. That I can endure. I've had another PM threatening to report my stories all over my author notes. I have explained to this person my READERS have not had any issue and it's poor behavior in my opinion for other Fanfiction authors to report stories. They're mad I made Thank You chapters that were just an AN and I have since taken them down. But the last PM did say they were giving me a few weeks to change.

I Plan to finish out Trappings. Then all chapters of future works and my backlist are going up on my site. I will leave my stories up. But if this organized group reports them, there's nothing I can do. In my research, this group is why whole other forums were created... The status of the book is it's all written, I've been through it once and this chapter and the remaining ones are with my editor. I can't promise my Fanfiction profile is going to stay, I wrote a very strongly worded PM back. I am pretty livid still that they think I just post here to boost my sales, of course, . . . ::Sarcasm::that's why I leave the stories up. ::Sarcasm:: Shaking my head.

So here's the deal. I'm posting all of it. The whole rest of it. It's raw and slightly unedited so if somebody tried to publish it ahead of me I'll definitely know where it came from... but I'd rather those who can't afford my story get it all before an angry group on FF gets my account erased and because it will take me some time to get everything up on my site.

********************

Crisp, morning dew dampened the skirts of Kitty Bennet as she waited nervously outside of the small chapel next to Netherfield Park. She stood with her two sisters, Mary and Lydia Bennet, shifting her weight from foot to foot as she craned her neck to watch for the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Bingley. When she had heard of the arrival of the Bennet carriage, Kitty hastened out of the main house to join her family at the chapel, but the conversation with her sisters had remained stilted. Her parents barely acknowledged her before walking inside with her father uncharacteristically relying on her mother for support. Kitty peppered Lydia with a whispered question.

"Does Papa's hand shake so regularly?" Kitty's anxiety did cover not only her father's health but also her upcoming role in the service. She was to stand up as a godparent for both babes, as her Aunt and Uncle Philips were to take the oath as godparents for little Lynn and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst for young Charlie. Netherfield Park nearly filled to the brim between the Bingleys, the Gardiners, the Phillipses and the Hursts. The nursery now numbered seven children under the nurses care with four of them not yet breeched.

Lydia ignored Kitty's question and spoke to Mary instead.

"I should hate when we have to go into that stuffy little chapel. It is much nicer out-of-doors." Lydia looked up high at the rising sun threatening to bake all of them in the last days of August. The smell of freshly cut grass assaulted girls' senses and the symphony of morning bird calls quieted to a low, insect buzzing of a summer's day.

"I cannot fathom why our niece and nephew are not to be christened in Meryton like the rest of us. No one would think to look for their records here. Mr. Bingley is only leasing," Mary griped.

Kitty stood up slightly straighter and bristled at the criticism of a man who had treated her no less than a full sister.

"There is a possibility that Mr. Bingley might purchase Netherfield Park. Besides, our family line has a connection by marriage to many of the houses in our surrounding county. No family can live two hundred years in a place without uniting amongst themselves." Kitty snapped at Mary with annoyance, but then remembered her original aim. "Have you noticed Papa being ill? He practically leaned upon Mama to enter the chapel."

Before Mary could answer, voices and movement attracted the attention of all three of the women waiting patiently for the procession into the chapel. The Bingleys, with Jane relying on the support of her husband and followed by nurses carrying little Lynn and Charlie, began the short, dignified walk from the main entrance over to the east side where the chapel lay quaintly near the edge of a copse of trees. Kitty could not help herself from smiling at the joy of Jane's triumph when her other two sisters continue to sour the day with their complaints.

"Finally they come! I doubt there was any real reason to keep all of us delayed out here."

"It was Papa's choice to have the carriage taken straight to the chapel. I am certain if you had come inside properly, we all might have waited more comfortably," Kitty retorted, a smile still plastered on her face so Jane could not see her distress.

"Mr. Bingley is lucky that Papa even agreed to give his blessing after the insults that Mr. Bingley has held against our father," Mary countered.

"You know nothing of what you speak." Kitty turned her face to scold her older sister. "Do the two of you not care that our family is fractured? Or have you both just enjoyed having our parents' attentions all to yourself?"

Lydia dramatically touched her hand to her forehead as the christening party neared. "All this talk gives me such a headache. You can't very well yell at us for breaking the family apart when you refuse to live at home. Everyone else gets to stay at Netherfield Park, but we were not invited. I only wish the christening had been in Meryton as well. More interesting people might have attended," Lydia finished.

Kitty pressed her lips into a thin line and thought bitterly about the painting upstairs that she hoped to present to her mother and father at the breakfast planned in honor of Jane and the twins. Her two sisters' acrimony took her aback, but she didn't want to have Jane hear them fighting and so she remained silent. She brightened when Mr. Bingley approached and greeted Kitty first before nodding to Mary and Lydia, a small lift of precedence over her sister Mary that vindicated Kitty's feelings of hurt.

Jane and Charles entered the chapel doors, and Kitty waited for the Hursts to follow and then her aunt and uncle. Kitty took her place with Lydia and Mary following her for once. Her sisters would not stand for the ceremony christening the babes but unofficially asserted their rights by following after the official grandparents mostly through the procession until joining their parents to sit in the very first pew.

The vicar began reading from the book of Common Prayer and the small congregation of family and upper staff of Netherfield Park affirmed their faith through the Trinity and professed as a congregation to protect and uphold young Lynn and Charles. Benediction was given unto the Lord for Jane's safe delivery, and Kitty observed Jane's face as the vicar blessed the Bingleys to have many more children. Although Jane's expression remained serene, Kitty could not help notice that her sister's nostrils slightly flared at the prospect of more children so soon after the painful delivery of the twins and it appeared Mr. Bingley had gripped Jane's arm slightly tighter.

But to her great disappointment, Kitty's parents remained cool as stone. Distracted by the slight drooping of her father's left eyelid and corner of his lip, her artistic nature could not help but to study faces. She dwelled on the change in her father's appearance and nearly missed her lines.

"Will you by your prayers and witness help this child to grow into the full stature of Christ?" the vicar asked. Kitty quickly remembered to chime in with the Hursts as little Charlie was baptized first.

"I will, with the help of God," the trio of voices said. And Kitty listened more carefully so she would not miss her cue on little Lynn.

As they began to sing the final hymn to close the christening service, Kitty found herself silently praying for guidance on how to heal her fractured family and to her surprise, suddenly felt a new resolve. Hesitation crept over her heart and whispered that today was not the right day to present her mother with her painting of the Bennet daughters. Her gift would be instrumental in serving her family's reconciliation, but she felt it best to wait when individual hearts were not so pained by the division.

The only saving grace Kitty could spy was her mother so desperately wishing to faun over the babies but restricted herself to the care of her father. Mr. Bingley left Jane's side to welcome Mr. and Mrs. Bennet personally.

Peacefully, they all walked back to Netherfield Park for the breakfast. Mary and Lydia walked together to the exclusion of Kitty who found herself walking with the nurses and helping to steer all of the children back. In the back of her mind, she heard echoes of her friend's prediction that she would end up an old maid, but still found such a future to mean more time for her art. This cheered Kitty as she took the hand of the smallest Gardiner cousin and enjoyed a lively skip down the gravel trail leading to the grand stairs of the manor house.


	36. Chapter 36

A/N: This scene has a few cute easter eggs from Austen's original prose :) teehee :) still posting!

*********

"Yoohoo! Mrs. Darcy! That prospect over there looks practically heavenly!" Lady Margaret Douglas issued her opinion as the Carver staff put the finishing touches on laying out the afternoon picnic. "It would not be too much trouble to pack up and move over there, would it? The sun is beastly on this side of the hill."

Elizabeth Darcy pressed her lips in a fine line and opened her mouth to speak when her husband usurped her.

"Sadly, Lady Margaret, I'm afraid there are an abundance of mole establishments on that side of the hill. Their holes will pose too great a threat to many an ankle." Elizabeth gawked as her husband turned on his charm. "I sincerely hope you can excuse my ground staff for their shortcomings in clearing all of my hills."

Lady Margaret blushed and Elizabeth struggled to not roll her eyes. Patting her husband gently on his arm as a sign of gratitude, she chose to see the benefit of avoiding one of Lady Margaret's many veiled criticisms.

The weather had held back any bluster and the twenty couples enjoyed a spread of all Carver estate had to offer. From braised lamb to a fine stout ale, after partaking in the meal, games of bowls and pall mall were swiftly set up.

"Care a spot of wager there, Darcy?" Lord Randolph tipped his hat as the two Darcys languished over their meal with the Ogilvy-Grants.

"I'm terribly sorry, Lord Randolph, but we've just resolved to taking a lovely stroll down the path along the forest's edge. Would you care to join us?" Mrs. Darcy smiled sweetly at his lordship, paying her husband back for his earlier kindness.

"Indeed," Mr. Grant replied, taking Mrs. Darcy up on her ploy. He gallantly offered his arm for assistance to his hostess. "Say you'll join us Randolph and we can discuss that lovely grove of willow at Stanhope."

"Trees are for the birds, Grant," Lord Randolph returned Francis Grant's informality as Mr. Darcy rose to assist Mrs. Mary-Anne Grant. He gave a nod to Lord Randolph as he fell into lockstep behind his wife and her escort.

The promenading couples passed down the middle between the two games, and Lord Randolph slinked back to hit up another for a coin wager. As they reached the edge where they might circumnavigate the hill, Francis Grant took the opportunity to thank his hostess.

"You must be very generous of spirit, Mrs. Darcy, if you do not mind me saying so, to share your lovely home so soon after your wedding."

"Oh, Mr. Darcy and I have had a rather unorthodoxically long courtship, I believe I feel less blushing as a bride than I ought," Elizabeth replied.

"We know all about unorthodox beginnings." Francis Grant hinted at the odd situation he and his wife lived, caretakers of the great Cullen Castle, but not officially the holders of the title as his brother still breathed, but lived a half-life of madness.

"Forgive me, I did not mean to drudge up any unpleasantries."

Francis Grant laughed, looking over his shoulder to see his wife and Mr. Darcy engaged in a pleasant conversation, that is, his wife talking animatedly and his friend Mr. Darcy nodding appropriately.

"My brother is as well as he has ever been, Mrs. Darcy. And I again thank you for the lovely respite. The year has been very difficult for Mrs. Grant."

"Yes, we've found a kinship there I'm afraid. And like you, our dearest cousin Richard recently sold his commission for family matters. Service to the King exceeds the battlefield, I say. A great landlord feeds many a soldier."

Francis Grant tilted his head in awe of Mrs. Darcy's good sense. "Tell me, Mrs. Darcy, are you always so reliable for good cheer?"

Elizabeth blushed and looked to her husband who had steered Mrs. Grant into a quicker pace that they had neared his wife and her escort enough to overhear the conversation.

"My wife is a commensurate philosopher and conversationalist. She oft reminds me to think of the past only when its remembrance brings me joy," Fitzwilliam locked eyes with his wife and smirked to find her gasp for breath. But Elizabeth's shock did not last long before she was saved by none other than Mary-Anne.

"Gentlemen, while a young bride appreciates a compliment now and again, let's not pester the poor girl," she gave a conspiratorial wink as she reached for Elizabeth's hand to lead her away from the men entirely. "Let's plan your visit to Cullen Castle. You simply must say you'll visit, I cannot give up a friend so divine."

The two ladies walked off back in the direction they had all come as shouts and laughter came from both sets of games. Elizabeth whispered her thanks to Mary-Anne as she turned to give a loving glance to her husband, before taking her new friend's arm in earnest.

"Have we been rejected, Darcy?"

"I believe so. But at least to this is our gain."

"Oh? How so?"

Darcy peered at his friend with a face of pure indifference before landing his quip. "Our wives' figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking."

Francis Grant laughed heartily at Fitzwilliam's prurient observation, but could not disagree. They followed the ladies back to the party proper falling easily into a discussion about estate management.

The happy picnic continued much longer than intended and only the arrival of dark clouds ushered in any urgency of ending. The blankets and baskets were packed and on the wagon as the score of couples created an informal parade back to the house in their now sullied day suits and gowns. Elizabeth walked arm in arm with not only Mrs. Mary-Anne Ogilvy-Grant, but also the boisterous and bonnie Lady Agnew. Lady Margaret sulked as her husband paid hardly any attention to her criticisms of the afternoon as she had lost at pall mall and disastrously bowled when she changed games in a huff.


	37. Chapter 37

"I am not mourning that man!" Richard Fitzwilliam scoffed at the black armband laying on top of their small table in the parlor. The main house had sent over black bunting for the house, black armbands for the males, and black fabric for gowns to be made for Anne and the other women.

"You don't think it will show respect to Georgiana? They were lawfully married." Anne's fingers trembled slightly as she traced the edge of the black bolts of bombazine. Her husband let out a snort at her declaration of the Wickhams' status.

"The man was a criminal and a cad. Not even a proper plot, as his wife so emphatically pointed out." Richard scowled and paced the room, hunting for a sideboard of spirits. When he could find not the bottle, he looked expectantly to his wife who shrugged and pointed at the cupboard.

"Mother visited and I tucked it away to shorten her list of complaints."

Richard cast open the cupboard and pulled out a decanter of whisky and a glass. As he watched the amber liquid fill the glass, he continued to make his point. "We moved here so that she could not meddle. What is the sense of leaping when she so commands and hiding a fine whisky when she visits if we could do so living in the main house? This is our cottage!" Richard gulped his drink and took a deep breath to maintain his firmness. One look from his wife, Anne, though, softened the old Army colonel.

"A visiting tyrant is better than living with one."

Richard's face fell as Anne rubbed her growing belly. Before he could make apologies, she changed the subject.

"Did you visit the Archbishop?" Anne raised an eyebrow as her husband shook his head. "But Darcy-"

"Can bloody well do his own business." Richard finished his drink and considered pouring another before placing his glass next to the decanter and joining his wife on the sofa. "She was in shambles. Once I arrived, I couldn't very well leave her again, especially not as Miss Bingley practically ran from the home the moment I arrived."

"Miss Bingley?" Anne tried to recollect the name, but having never met the Bingleys, failed to remember the woman's role.

"Spinster sister of Darcy's friend, and the chap who married Elizabeth's sister, Jane." Richard squinted a bit as he realized how tangled the various families had become through marriage.

"Oh dear, I fear I may need a chart," Anne teased, as Richard growled good-naturedly in her direction. But when his wife sighed, he no longer felt in an amorous mood, but a concerned one.

"You wish for me to wear the armband, don't you?" he asked.

Anne shook her head, then nodded.

"Well, which is it woman?" Richard laughed at his wife's indecision until she placed a hand firmly on his arm, with a grip he could not ignore.

"Should I perish-"

"You shall not. We do not speak of-"

"But should I perish, and our babe, Georgiana's child would inherit. You will need their goodwill-"

"I will need nothing of the sort! Should I lose you, there's no guarantee the babe . . ." Richard trailed off as he felt ill even thinking his own child might not survive. "And besides, I've told you, I'm an old soldier. I don't need all the trappings of fussy home. I only endure such a cage at your pleasure, madam."

Anne smiled, as she knew her husband to be speaking plainly. He would indeed sleep in the stables if he so needed.

"Then wear it for her. She feels betrayed and forgotten. She made a poor choice for a husband, and she will deliver before me. Wear the band tonight at dinner if you ever cared for our cousin."

"At dinner tonight? I see, you waited until now to tell me of this so the armband is but a trifle." Anne smirked as she rose from the couch and her husband eyed the whisky across the room.

Before she could leave, he had to ask a plain question out of petty fairness.

"What about your attire? Surely a gown cannot be made so quickly." He pointed to the unaltered fabric on the table.

"Julia is letting down the hem of one of my old mourning gowns as we speak. Thankfully, we do not yet have to add panels to the middle."

Richard frowned, realizing he had been ambushed by the enemy and coaxed into surrender.

"She's nothing like the docile girl you remember. She is something quite vulgar and horrific."

"I know," Anne replied. "She came with my mother this morning with a sour disposition and all of the expectation of deference."

"And still you wish to support this farce of respectability? To mourn a man neither of us wish was still alive?" Richard no longer resisted the temptation for a second drink and helped himself to another pouring.

Anne shrugged and leaned against the banister as she planned to go above stairs and take her bath. "If we make no attempts to amend her now, when do you propose we should make a start?"

Richard closed his eyes at his wife's wisdom and listened to her small footsteps take the stairs slowly. The cadence provided a soft comfort until he could no longer hear any creaks and groans of the wood floor.

When he opened his eyes, he gazed out the window at the lovely afternoon sun but ruled out another ride. He had just turned Sampson over to the groom before coming in and held significant doubt the beast was up for another ride. Instead, he snatched the decanter of whisky and walked out the backdoor to sit on the small stone porch overlooking the pond. At least there he could pull out a cigar as the smoke aggravated Anne's lungs when he smoked indoors and curse the wretched widow alliance of his mother-in-law and ward.


	38. Chapter 38

A/N: so the picnic scene and the I won't mourn wickham scene were two late editions. I thought the story was DONE July 30. But something kept nagging me, and those are the two scenes I think were needed to knit the ending together. There are 2 more books, Miracle of Marriage and Fruits of Marriage. Hang wtih me, they can't be posted here, but through the Facebook group, my site, and my mailing list I will make sure everyone gets to read them. Thank you all for your support... this really hurts to rapid post all of this, and I hate it, but it's the only way. This is what happens when you build so much on a site you don't own. Anyone can come along and be a Caroline Bingley and ruin the party. :(

*****************

Mr. and Mrs. Darcy had survived two full weeks of the large house party, and yet both relished the final days and ball had finally arrived. Rising early as was their habit, they enjoyed breaking their fast privately in Mrs. Darcy's suite at a much earlier hour than the previous days. The final day had been planned to a perfection of activity.

Mr. Darcy would lead the men in various sports and outdoor pursuits while Elizabeth had undertaken the Herculean task of organizing an afternoon of musical performances by the ladies. Organizing such an afternoon in the music room would not ordinarily be such a battle except for the egos and expectations of certain members of the house party. Initially, Elizabeth had intended for the women with titles to perform last as should be their due. But in Scotland, she found the matter to be altogether backwards.

Instead, Lady Margaret Douglas recommended emphatically that Lady Agnew perform after her at the harp and Mrs. Grant in turn. At Lady Margaret's insistence, and no wish for discord from the others, the performance order had been set as Lady Margaret and then Lady Agnew followed finally by Mrs. Grant.

"But whensoever will Mrs. Darcy grace us with her musical talents?" Lady Margaret asked, a slight shaming of her hostess that she had performed many a time over the course of the visit. But for the lady's barbs to find bite required a jealous and socially climbing Mrs. Darcy. As Elizabeth was neither of those things, she laughed off Lady Margaret's pointed question.

"When I say I perform poorly, it is not a false modesty. I'm afraid the pianoforte and music was never my choice of pastime, preferring rather to help my father in his study or ramble about our lands to hear Nature's symphony."

While the others held no qualms about Mrs. Darcy's lack of musical prowess, Lady Margaret clasped her hands in such a fashion as to express shock and amazement that such a young gentlewoman could be so ill prepared for the demands of the drawing room. At this, Elizabeth's courage began to rise and without intending to sound so harsh, she professed that her playing and singing satisfied Mr. Darcy, and if there was ever a need for entertaining in London, that she would likely hire professional musicians for the evening so as not to be a servant the evening's entertainment.

Finding herself unable to rattle Mrs. Darcy, Lady Margaret took her place at the harp and performed an Italian aria that satisfied more than most. The problem arose when it became clear the elitist member of the Douglas clan had made a gross miscalculation. Lady Madeleine Agnew was renowned for her illustrious soprano, and she performed without accompaniment a hymn that moved nearly everyone in the room into a religious experience. The small hairs on Elizabeth's arms had prickled up at the pure innocence and cry for redemption in Lady Agnew's song.

But the coup de grace came when Mrs. Grant took her place at the pianoforte. She performed two rousing songs that had all of the other ladies in the parlor tapping their feet and expressing the free-flowing happiness only the magic of music could supply.

Finding herself upstaged, a situation she might've her avoided had she taken the last spot to perform and then feigned an illness, Lady Margaret confessed to a headache and quit the room entirely as Elizabeth had to stifle a giggle. But enduring the snobbish Douglass couple felt trifling compared to the amiable temperaments of Mrs. Grant and Lady Agnew. And it was the latter who came to Elizabeth's side as the afternoon began to wane and other ladies quit the parlor for rest before the evening's ball.

"Bravo, I do not often perform these days, but I confess Lady Margaret goaded me into it." Lady Agnew reminded Elizabeth of Fitzwilliam's aunt, Lady Matlock, whom she'd only had the pleasure of meeting a handful of times. Lady Agnew was of the older generation above her, but with her musical talent so renowned, occasionally she could be prevailed upon to brighten a dreary evening with song.

"I confess that I have never heard such beautiful singing in a church, nor a stage!" Elizabeth did not go so far as to ask if Lady Agnew ever had other aspirations with her talents, but such a question wasn't needed. As Mrs. Grant came to join them with a teacup in hand, a footman entered the parlor with a letter on a silver platter for his mistress.

"Oh, my sister Jane has written, by my word, living so far from each other I never know when to expect her next correspondence," Elizabeth grinned and began to tuck the letter into the pocket of her gown.

"Are you so very close to your sister?" Mrs. Grant asked simply. Elizabeth nodded.

"I would say that there was a time when Jane and I were so dedicated to one another that each of us might perform a similar sacrifice as your dear husband has for his brother."

"It was harder on Francis then he ever shared to leave the Army for the needs of his family, but I know he did so out of love for his brother."

Lady Agnew and Elizabeth nodded in unison with a humming of sympathy to comfort Mrs. Grant.

"Mr. Darcy's own cousin recently left the military and I have heard that his staff still calls him Colonel." The three ladies shared a laugh as Elizabeth continued. "It's another tenuous situation of management and ownership of the property not lying within the same person."

"But that is the way of all gentile families. By the time you inherit, it seems only fitting to delegate the bulk of the work to whomever is waiting in the wings. It is after all their inheritance to preserve." Lady Agnew had punctuated much of the week with her frank and at times bombastic declarations. Where Elizabeth found them utterly adorable, she did hesitate to look for Mrs. Grant's reaction in case she had to mollify insult between her two guests. But Mrs. Grant had proved the mettle of the woman who kept in correspondence with Elizabeth in the many weeks leading up to the house party.

"I shall have to put that idea to my husband. Then I shall see our eldest son more often and my husband as well." Mrs. Grant's logic made the three women laugh even harder as they were finally the only ones left in the sitting room. Mrs. Grant looked around and then urged Mrs. Darcy to open up her letter from her sister. "You cannot fool me, though you may claim you are to go above stairs and rest I feel certain you have a growing task list of things that you must check upon before such an escape. Go on, open your sister's letter before you continue being the best hostess in Carver House memory."

Elizabeth looked sheepish as Mrs. Grant had called her out as she had just been thinking the very same thing. Not that she would open up Jane's letter. Though customary to rest before an evening of dancing, and especially a sound plan in her case, there was in fact a growing list of small errands and tasks that Mrs. Darcy wished to review with Mrs. McSorley and Higgins before retiring. She did not know when she would get a chance to read Jane's letter and so greedily, she acted upon Mrs. Grant's encouragement.

As Elizabeth broke the seal and unfolded the missive, she delightfully shared with her friends that all of her family was in good health and that they prepared for the christening of Jane's young children. When Jane's letter began to express condolences and gave an accounting of a discussion she held with Mrs. Hurst, Elizabeth began to feel an uncomfortable warmth spread across her neck and up her cheeks. Her eyes began to blur as she struggled to read the rest of the words until finally she felt her body collapsing against her will to the floor below her. Lady Agnew and Mrs. Grant had both reached forward to slow Mrs. Darcy's fall as she fainted right before them. As the three women laid unladylike sprawled across the floor, Mrs. Grant turned her head and shouted with all of her might.

"Go and fetch Mr. Darcy! At once! His wife has fainted. And you," she addressed the other footman that had not moved as quickly as the first one. "Come and help us! We must get Mrs. Darcy to bed!" With the efficiency only a colonel's wife can command, there would be no last minute tasks checked before the ball, if there was to be a ball at all.

Mrs. Darcy was taken straight to her room while a fervent search for the master began as word spread through the staff that their adored mistress had taken ill.


	39. Chapter 39

A/n: This scene has a little bit of heat between our married couples, but I PROMISED readers on the Janside there would be a kilt. Ahem.

****************

When Mr. Darcy bolted into his wife's room, he did not find a simpering, injured Elizabeth. Quite the opposite, his wife sat upon her bed in her chemise clasping her arms around her folded legs to her chest talking angrily with her maid. When Higgins spied Mr. Darcy, she alighted from the foot of the bed where she had been seated and disappeared as quickly as her feet could carry her to Mrs. Darcy's wardrobe. Elizabeth turned her face at the man she thought she knew and angrily glared at him with a stare that might've made a weaker man question his fortitude.

"You are well!" Mr. Darcy could scarcely believe his eyes as nothing about his wife seemed amiss other than the fact that she was clearly very angry about something. "The footman, he came to me and said that you had collapsed?"

"How long have you known that George Wickham was dead?" Elizabeth's question took the staccato beat of gunshot and paused Mr. Darcy's progress to her bed mid step. Sucking in his breath, he completed his step and realized his greatest fear could not have occurred on a worse day. "I worried that you might find out through other means."

"What has that to do with anything? I should never have found out through other means. You should have been the one to tell me. What else are you keeping from me in this mockery of a wedding trip?" Elizabeth's mind began to cycle through all of her nightmares and worries for her family and his family while they had been in Scotland. Compounded by the weight of her homesickness, everything suddenly felt like a falsehood. Her emotions out shouted any thoughts of reason in her mind as her disloyal husband stood before her.

"This falsehood of a wedding trip is no mockery to me, madam. I have been honest with you these have been the best weeks of my life."

"And how can I believe you? You have lied to me and allowed me to go on believing that all was well – oh my goodness," Elizabeth covered her face with her hands, "She must think me the most callous, uncaring sister in the world!"

"Who? Who could think such a thing of you?" Mr. Darcy asked earnestly.

Elizabeth dragged her hands down her face as she pulled them down reigniting another wave of anger at her husband. Her simple, dimwitted husband who had undone so much of what Elizabeth had hoped to accomplish. "Your sister! I wrote to her a letter encouraging the reconciliation! I might as well penned I wish she had died, too!"

Fitzwilliam's hand clenched into a fist as he brought it up and then thought better of biting his fist. He ruffled his hair and raked his hand down along the back of his neck as he pulled at the skin.

"I have been a complete and utter ass. I thought you had not written a letter because you never brought it to me for us to send it together."

"I didn't wish to bother you. I have done so much correspondence, it was no challenge to write a letter to Georgiana. And I placed it on your desk for you to sign."

"I didn't read all of those letters, I merely signed them."

Elizabeth waved her hands in frustration that the conversation had gone so far off course. Perhaps she should not have put Georgiana's letter in with the other correspondence for the house party, but it did not negate the fact that her husband never told her about such a serious incident for their family. Finding her tongue dry, she choked out the words, utterly fearful of his answer.

"Why did you not trust me to know? Why did you not tell me this burden that you carried while you were so attentive, so kind, so.…" Elizabeth thought for a moment as Fitzwilliam still did not answer her query. "You felt guilty!"

For almost a year her thoughts had been nothing but about this man. She thought she knew his vices and his virtues, but she had misjudged one.

Slowly, Fitzwilliam began to stutter his words. "I was selfish. And yes, guilty." His eyes widened in fear as he began to tell the whole story of how he came to conceal such an idiotic secret from his beloved. "I only ever came to Hertfordshire as a means to distract the gossip away from Georgiana. Every moment of the last year has been about her needs and minimizing her consequences. And then for the rest of my family. Every moment."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow as her anger began to melt away into an even worse feeling of disgust. "Every moment?" she asked pointedly.

Fitzwilliam shook his head and dashed to the edge of her bed so as to take his wife's hands. As Elizabeth spied the sapphire ring, the tainted token repulsed her. She struggled to remove the ring, but Fitzwilliam wrapped his hands around hers and they sparred for a moment. She managed to pull her hands free only for him to grab them once more. Finally, he squeeze just tight enough to catch her attention and gazed into her eyes with the passion of the man she loved.

"Every moment until you and I finally left for Gretna Green was in the service of another. I didn't wish to stay at Pemberley for nearly a month. I did so in hopes of satisfying Charles and your father. Call me a selfish creature, but all I have wanted since the day I held your lifeless body in my hands was to make you well again. And as you recovered, I met a dazzling woman of great intellect and even greater care for those around her that I would be a fool not to make her my wife."

Elizabeth blinked back tears. "But you lied to me. Did you plan on telling me at all?"

"Yes." Fitzwilliam answered quickly and as Elizabeth pursed her lips, he continued. "It is never right for a young bride to go into mourning. And you were so excited for this house party, that I planned to tell you next week once we were alone again. And now, I've ruined it all." Fitzwilliam gently released his wife's hands but not before holding just her right hand and bringing it to his lips for a chaste kiss.

Elizabeth felt the heat of his affections even though she so dearly did not wish to be attracted to the man. And with time, she was certain she might begin to see his logic when she was able to think about the situation more rationally.

"There's much more we need to speak about as a result of Wickham's murder. But first I shall go downstairs and announce the cancellation of the ball." Mr. Darcy leaned forward to rise from the bed when Elizabeth grasped his coat sleeve and held with all of her might. Such unexpected force caught Fitzwilliam off balance and instead of merely remaining seated on the bed, he fell backwards into a prone position on his back. Sensing her short tenure of dominance, Elizabeth towered over him like a tiger over its prey pressing her nose almost his.

"You shall do no such thing, husband. If you truly wish to atone for your idiocy, I shall only accept payment of reconciliation on the dance floor."

Though she was still very cross, Fitzwilliam found himself delightfully aroused at his wife's display of strength. Licking his lips, his eyes searched his Lizzie's for sign a permission, and when her eyelids began to droop and her own lips parted, he leaned up to begin a kiss that ignited more passion for both of them. Elizabeth properly straddled her husband as their kiss deepened, and she was suddenly reminded of the peculiarities of Scottish fashion for men against her backside.

Though her own passions had begun to reach an urgent sense of need for herself, she felt it best to delay their relations lest Fitzwilliam think such a serious transgression would result in no punishment. She removed herself from her husband's person and left the bed to hurriedly pull her bell cord the appropriate amount of times to summon Higgins.

Fitzwilliam groaned as he watched his wife's actions and then looked down at the haphazardly arranged kilt. His wife smiled as she caught a view before he restored his dress and attempted to stand with dignity from her bed.

"If you fainted–"

"I did faint, but I am well now." Elizabeth interrupted him, further pricking his annoyance.

"If you have fainted," Darcy growled, "then I cannot in good conscience allow you to overexert yourself. We should call a doctor."

"There is no need," Elizabeth held out her palm as Mr. Darcy approached her and she wished to keep some distance between them before she lost her nerve on abstaining. "Tell me Fitzwilliam, when was the last time I've denied you my bed since we've come to Scotland?"

"You've never denied me your-" Mr. Darcy answered just as Higgins entered the room after a perfunctory knock.

As the realization began to sink in Darcy's mind, Elizabeth called over her shoulder as her maid began to escort her to her dressing table. "It is still early, so please do not become too excited or speak to others. The only two people who know that I fainted are more than satisfied and everyone is counting on us. Now you must go!" Elizabeth ordered as Higgins began to brush her mistress' hair, forcing herself to look only at Elizabeth's hairbrush as she had a good idea that the master was not in the mistress's good graces.

Mr. Darcy took advantage of the shared door between their suite of rooms to call for his own man rather than risk the hallway. As the door closed with more sound than usual, Mrs. Darcy bit her lower lip as she looked to Higgins and the two women shared a conspiratorial laugh as Elizabeth refused to be out of sorts on what was to be the pinnacle moment the entire fortnight. And as she gazed down at the sapphire ring on her right hand, she decided that she would indeed don the jewels of the Carver family and represent the house well, even if the pit of her stomach wished to do nothing but go back to bed and find comfort in her husband's embrace.


	40. Chapter 40

A/N: This scene brought to you by Jane Austen descriping a time she over imbibed in a letter to her cousin Cassandra. :) Some liberties were taken... and I really enjoyed getting to mirror a scene from Book 1... :)

**************

All eyes in the ballroom watched with pure captivation as Mr. and Mrs. Fitzwilliam Darcy of London, Pemberley, and Carver House opened the first ball at their Scottish home in over twenty years. Mrs. Darcy sparkled from tiara to slipper in jewelry and hair combs that no one but the happy couple knew were all gifts from her husband. For her gown, she had selected a jewel-toned silk in a deep amethyst to contrast with her sapphires and diamonds,. But most of all, the purple hue set off her glowing complexion and brown eyes in a most fetching manner to the only one she sought to impress as the opening notes of a reel began.

But with the first steps of the dance, Elizabeth suddenly felt that something was horribly wrong. She began to feel self-conscious and panic threatened to overcome her countenance as once more her mind played vignette after vignette of negative outcomes for her family members. She grimaced as she accepted the hand of Lord Agnew for the partner change before circling around and accepting Fitzwilliam's arm once more. They moved down the line one couple and began the sequence with a new pair as Lord and Lady Agnew promenaded to the end of the line.

"I should have called off this exercise," Darcy managed between clenched teeth as he and Elizabeth fulfilled their obligations of the foursome. Elizabeth clapped while her husband spun Lady Margaret and then bowed, then she performed the same with his lordship before taking Fitzwilliam's arm to move down another couple.

"But I so dearly love to dance!"

She forced a smile and added an extra bounce to her next few steps in an attempt to reassure her husband. But he was no fool. Much like Elizabeth knew when Darcy told a white lie, but apparently not a large falsehood, Fitzwilliam had come to learn Elizabeth subtle ways of displaying her anxieties. In his mind, he counted how many more couples they had to go and focused upon watching her carefully in case she might faint again.

But his worry was for not as the song ended and Elizabeth proclaimed a monstrous thirst. Not waiting for her husband to attend to her, Mrs. Darcy marched over to the punch bowl in a vision that shocked Mr. Darcy at first until he hastened to follow his wife. Elizabeth urged the footman to pour her a full glass and had downed nearly half of it by the time Fitzwilliam reached her.

"Lizzie, is this wise?" He had leaned close to her ear for the admonition while she waved her hand as if swatting a fly.

"It is not your feet that are likely to be tread upon all evening while you wear nothing but slippers. This is the way we ladies all survive." Elizabeth made her little jest and took another healthy drink as her next dance partner accompanied with Fitzwilliam's partner for the next set approached them. Elizabeth dutifully took her place in the line with his lordship after finishing her punch and another set began. And after each set, without fail, Mrs. Darcy made a straight line for the punch bowl so that by the fourth set, the poor footman had a glass at the ready for his mistress.

By the time of supper, Elizabeth spent most of the meal leering down at the long table at her husband and finding him to be the most desirable man in the room. On her left, Lord Randolph talked extensively about the woes of sheep farmers and the falling price of wool while the gentleman to her right offered no intelligent conversation whatsoever but ate as though his last meal set before him. Elizabeth called the footman over a number of times to fill her wine glass, and by the second time, she no longer looked at Fitzwilliam when he raised his eyebrow at her drinking from down the table. Elizabeth Darcy felt determined she would get through this night, and if her mother had taught her nothing it was that a good defense often began and ended with one's wineglass.

Finding her stomach protesting at any further addition, it took a great deal of concentration to look up from her chair at Fitzwilliam leaning over her without feeling dizzy. After a slight delay, she realized it was time to dance once more, and she found it inordinately humorous she could no longer feel her toes. As the violinists began to play she and her husband once more opened the dancing. Elizabeth giggled with every step and began begging pardon as she horrifically bumped into the couple next to them by going in the wrong direction.

"Elizabeth, perhaps we should sit this set out." Fitzwilliam attempted to lead his wife off the dance floor which would cause a ripple effect in the set but not if he did so in place of the Grants before they promenaded to the back of the line. Unfortunately, Elizabeth was not keen on failure. She flopped her arms down and stomped her foot which threw off her balance which she managed to regain after a slight sway.

"We cannot. It is simply not done." And she marched forward to take the next spot while Darcy apologetically shrugged to the Grants.

After another disastrous foursome, this time Elizabeth forgot to take her steps with the opposing male partner entirely, Fitzwilliam nodded at the couple as his wife slurred her speech almost incomprehensibly. When at last the beats came for another couple to leave the line, Fitzwilliam wrapped his arms around his Elizabeth and supported her at both elbows to gracefully guide her to a sofa in the far corner of the ballroom. However, as Mr. and Mrs. Darcy were the hosts for the entire fete, hardly anyone bothered to pretend disinterest. The room was filled with marriages of both convenience and wealth gaining, with the Darcy's marriage by far the youngest. Unintentionally, the stigmas and prejudices of old money smirked and grinned at the demonstrably disaster a love match seemed to have brought.

But Elizabeth was beyond any feelings of self-consciousness. She crossed her arms across her chest to sit up on the sofa, her husband leaned forward and turned to his torso as though to shield his wife from the view of others.

"My darling, you are very upset. And while I understand your anger –"

"How do you understand my anger, Fitzwilliam, how?" Elizabeth struggled to say her husband's name.

Darcy dropped his voice even lower, as the music of the previous dance had ended enter an odd hush fell over the ballroom before another set could be started.

"I do not profess to know why you are so angry. I wished to cancel this evening and you implored me to still hold it. And yet you are incapacitated and…" Fitzwilliam's anger at the loss of his wife's personal responsibility to represent the family well began to rise in his chest and storm against every ancient tenet of his upbringing.

"I dishonor you?" Elizabeth asked a little too loudly, her eyes half falling in sleepiness.

"No, you do not dishonor–" Mr. Darcy soon realized even with his wife in her cups she was still slightly manipulative and that this had all been a ploy to further punish him.

But Mr. Darcy had had enough of his wife's admonishment and so he stood very gallantly and made his apologies. The ball had practically frozen over the dramatic behavior of Mrs. Darcy both at supper and during the dancing. She'd been so drunk that when Lord Randolph rose to give his speech, Mrs. Darcy had cried out in the middle of it, "Oh, do carry-on!" to the slight amusement of some but the utter horror of others. Fitzwilliam Darcy knew what he had to do.

"I'm afraid my wife as fallen unwell. Please, friends and family, enjoy yourself while I see her to bed and I shall rejoin you in but a moment." Fitzwilliam Darcy bowed for everyone's understanding, then Lord Douglas from the back felt he had to shout.

"And if you don't come back, lad, they'll be none of us that judge you for it!" The crowd erupted into laughter as Darcy soured at the insinuation that he would take his wife's favors in the state that she was in. Thankfully, as Elizabeth had completely passed out upon the sofa, and much like he had at Netherfield Park when she had fallen asleep in the drawing room her first evening out of her sick room, Fitzwilliam scooped up his wife's diminutive form and began to carry her. He was faithfully followed this time by servants of his own household.

To further relive their past, Elizabeth stirred partway up the stairs and recognized herself safe in Fitzwilliam's arms. She looped her own arms around his neck and pressed her face and to his shoulder.

"I am so sorry, Fitzwilliam."

"As am I, Elizabeth. As am I."


	41. Chapter 41

A/N: I love how strong ODC are in this story. I have hated this story for how LOOOONG it took me to write it. But I'm really proud of how they ended up, a bit of adventure, some romance, and we've got our hands FULL going into Book 5 and 6.

Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. I am so sorry of the mess going on. Hopefully, these chapters will be here for a few days before it all goes away, if it goes away, it won't be ME who deleted it. As to when the book will be available to own, probably late this month, as it has copyediting and formatting to go through. There's the Janeside on Facebook or my website. Love you all!

XOXOXO  
Elizabeth Ann West

****************

Pain awakened Elizabeth. Pain in her legs, in her arms, across her torso and most thunderously, in her head. She lifted one hand to press her palm against her forehead and she gingerly opened her eyes. Immediately, the sting of too much drink the night before took its payment for her folly.

"Fitzwilliam?" She croaked as she closed her eyes once more but turned her face in the direction of the side he normally slept. When she didn't hear a sound or sense any movement, she asked once more. "Fitzwilliam?" Her voice came out stronger but still scratchy from her overwhelming thirst.

The continued silence unnerved her and her eyes flew open despite the pain of the light coming in through the window as her heart and mind worried about far more important matters. Groaning, she used her hands to push herself up in her bed and then immediately cradled her head with her hands, trying to will the throbbing to stop. She looked around her room and realize she was all alone.

Heart ache shattered in her chest and she found it difficult to breathe under the realization that for the first night in their marriage she and her husband have slept alone. Tears began to fall down Elizabeth's cheeks, but her crying aggravated her situation as her body held not even enough water for her to cry properly. Racked with dry sobs, the door to her room opened and her husband strolled in carrying a large tray with his own two hands in a shocking display of servitude for the great Mr. Darcy.

Elizabeth gasped mid sob as Fitzwilliam struggled to close the door with his foot that he had seen the servants do many a time and finally settled upon bringing the tray to his wife's bedside table and then addressing the stubborn door.

Elizabeth still watched him with complete bewilderment as he finally spoke.

"A great many of our guests have called for their breakfasts in their beds and so I took it upon myself to check with Mrs. McSorley that all was in order and," Fitzwilliam stumbled as he tried to think of all the things that his wife took care of, "and I also spoke with Mr. Warner to make sure there was no difficulties with closing the ball last night. The first carriage for departure has been called for the afternoon but everyone intends to leave as planned." Fitzwilliam continued to stand as Elizabeth felt her heart melting at her husband's attempts to fix her own mistakes by drinking far too much and making a complete embarrassment of herself.

"This is all so very wonderful, but I am parched." Elizabeth massaged her her throat to emphasize her need as though her husband was making great amends, the symptoms of her hangover had not abated on adorableness alone.

"Of course, of course," Darcy hastily poured his wife a cup of tea and didn't have time to even put in her customary two lumps of sugar before she greedily reached for it and began to drink. "Have you ever imbibed that much wine?" Darcy found himself bemused by his wife's vulnerable position.

Elizabeth shook her head initially at a speed she would normally use and then slowed down as that was a regrettable decision.

"No. Does your head always hurt this badly?" she asked and Darcy laughed. Gallantly, he poured himself a cup of tea and joined his wife by sitting on the edge of her bed.

"There are only two ways to solve the problem. One is to endure the pain and take nourishment or . . ."

Elizabeth prompted him when he didn't finish his thought before taking another drink of tea.

"Or?"

Darcy shrugged. "Or you keep drinking." He laughed deeply with a hollow baritone only his closest family ever heard as Elizabeth scrunched up her nose and looked positively horrified at the idea of drinking any further.

"And I might ask how do you know so much about this particular ailment? But I'm slightly frightened to know the answer." She finished the last of her tea and slowly collapsed back against her pillows.

"Why you drove me to drink, of course."

"Me? I did nothing of the sort," Elizabeth said halfheartedly she closed her eyes but did not wish to go back to sleep. She merely wish to stop the assault of the morning sun.

"That is where you are mistaken," Darcy leaned forward to peck his wife's forehead eliciting a cheerful moan from his wife's lips, but he denied her further affection. Instead, his leg gently patted her thigh. "There was another letter from your sister that arrived last evening. I don't think you to be in any kind of shape for this, but I have learned my lesson and will not deny you. I am afraid to say that this one was sent by express." Darcy's voice dropped almost to a whisper as he handed his wife the thin missive.

Elizabeth hands shook as she took the parchment and carefully broke the seal. She began to read, her jaw dropped in horror and she began to wail an awful keening sound before Fitzwilliam gently took the letter from her as he crushed her into an embrace. Over her shoulder, he read the missive.

 _Lizzie,_

 _I have scarcely the time to write to you and I hope this reaches you with great haste. I am sad to report that Longbourn is lost. The house burned last evening and despite everyone's attempts to put out the flames, we have lost Mrs. Hill and young Gregory. Our father, I'm happy to say survives, but only just._

 _Despite our best efforts, christening little Charles and Lynn distressed our father and provoked an argument with Mr. Bingley and our uncle Gardiner after the church service. Our father called for the carriage, and our mother refused him to remain at Netherfield with Lydia and Mary. In short order, our mother shared with us what you already suspected. Father has suffered from the effects of apoplexy for nearly a year._

 _It appears he suffered another spell while alone in his study and he knocked over a candle. The flames alerted the footman, Gregory, who managed to drag our father out of the room with the help of Betsy. But he had not thought to beat back the flames and so distracted by our father struggling for breath, the entire study was ablaze before the first messenger even was sent. Gregory went back into the house to warn the other servants but the gable crashed under the loss of the study he and Mrs. Hill perished._

 _Father has been seen to by Mr. Jones but he cannot speak. His left arm and leg remain immobile and though his writing hand functions, we can hardly make out the scribblings he writes to try to communicate._

 _Our mother has taken to her bed and while Charles and I are more than capable of housing our sisters and parents, there has been a complication. I am sure Charles is sending an express to Mr. Darcy with what follows. It would appear that negotiations for renewing our lease have fallen through and so we are all to be turned out in one months time. While Charles and I may impugn upon the generosity offered by Mr. and Mrs. Hurst and our aunts and uncles have offered to take our sisters and parents in divided sets, I feel as though it may be best for us to keep the family together. Charles and I never intended to purchase Netherfield Park and we had planned to look for a suitable home in Derbyshire._

 _I am loathe to ask for your forgiveness of our father, but I am not so sure that which has plagued him has not robbed him of his better senses for a longer period of time than we knew. If you and Mr. Darcy can find it in your hearts to come back to England and send word, Charles and I will bring everyone to Pemberley. Our Uncle Phillips has said that the cost to rebuild Longbourn would exceed our father's savings as our mother's extravagances did indeed run deep._

 _Please advise at your earliest convenience what assistance you might lend._

 _Love,_

 _Jane_

 _PS. Mother wishes me to tell you when our father was dragged out of his study, his hand was gripped around a small mirror we all recognize as yours. The metal burnt his hand, but he keeps the trinket next to his bedside and if anyone tries to move it, he flails and moans. I don't think he ever meant to lose you, Lizzie. I only hope that you and Mr. Darcy can forgive the trespasses of an ill man._

As Elizabeth sobbed against her husband's chest, Fitzwilliam found his own eyes tearing up at the wretched misfortune plaguing the Bennet family. But he quickly pulled himself together as he considered his own letter from Charles likely waited for him in his study. Gently, he shushed his wife and kissed the top of her head until finally Elizabeth pulled back to look at him with tear stained eyes.

"Fitzwilliam?"

"You need not even ask. Of course our family is welcome to retreat to Pemberley." Darcy leaned forward to kiss his wife's swollen lips as he wiped her tears away with his thumbs. "Besides, I never wished for my heir to be born in Scotland!" he chuckled.

Elizabeth gently shook her head remembering her mistake from before. "I warn you, it is too soon to know for sure. It could be stress, or illness," she cautioned.

But Fitzwilliam inhaled deeply and leaned his forehead against his wife's. "Or it could be our miracle amidst all of the scandal. That was the other part I needed to tell you. The death of my sister's husband is a complicated matter because he was involved with criminals of the worst sort. And I am afraid that I misjudged the motivations of the Duke of Northumberland. I may have to spend time in London answering for George's misdeeds."

"Then we shall do so together," she said. But Fitzwilliam shook his head and looked down at her torso and she knew what he was thinking without him having to speak.

"You know I would not wish to risk . . . Though I can't bare the thought of leaving you. I more than sense the irony of asking you to trust me in this, but I must."

Elizabeth bit her lower lip and wished she knew for sure she with child even though so soon after their irregular marriage would likely invite talk.

"It does not matter. So long as I can trust you will never lie to me again, we can move forward from this. Come what may."

"They may seek repayment from our coffers," he warned

Elizabeth laughed and wrapped her arms around her husband's neck, giving him a gentle squeeze. "Then I suppose it's good luck that you married a wife more than comfortable with economy."


	42. Chapter 42

A/N UPDATE: The book is live on all vendors and debuted on the bestseller lists for its. All reviewers were thanked! You can get your forever copy from Amazon, Kobo, iBooks, Nook, or Kobo. Moving forward, I WILL post on Fanfiction but it will be Posting In Progress, not Work in Progress so that "negative Nathans" cannot derail my morale. Chapter republished to give last update on book. Thank you ALL

XOXOXO  
Elizabeth Ann West

A/N: Thank you all, please keep in touch. I will come back and read all of your thoughts and reviews so long as I am able. HUGS! I at least wanted everyone to have this story since it was started here.

XOXOXOX  
Elizabeth Ann West

As the Darcy carriages were packed by the staff and subsequently inspected by a very thorough Mr. Darcy, Higgins found herself hesitating next to Mrs. McSorley on the top step of Carver House. The two women stood silently watching the last of the preparations, the elder for any signs of malfeasance and the younger merely for the experience.

"I truly enjoyed my time at Carver House, I only wish it to have been of a longer duration as was originally planned."

"Carver Castle."

"I beg your pardon?" Higgins looked furtively at the carriage across the path she was to ride in with Simmons and another maid being promoted from Carver to Pemberley.

Mrs. McSorley sighed. "It's Carver Castle and it has always ever been until the elder Mr. Darcy insisted on calling it a house. But she will stand. Aye, she shall stand." Mrs. McSorley gave a rare slip of the Scottish burr she kept tucked from her accent as Higgins watched the older woman gaze up at the Gothic features of the home and wistfully accept it would go dark once more.

"Well, they say that Mrs. Darcy's family is to join us at Pemberley. That's why we're taking Miss Susan." Higgins felt grateful that she would not be asked to wait on the three Bennet girls. "I have a feeling that Carver Hou-Castle will not be empty for long."

What Higgins didn't share is that she wasn't sure if it was Mr. and Mrs. Darcy who would be returning for their own recreation, or if it would be other family members banished as a poor relation to the remote home. Some delicacies she had to keep as secrets between herself and Mrs. Darcy.

"If this experience be anything of a lesson to you, it's that a servant's lot is crushed upon the whims of their master. Don't let your affection for Mrs. Darcy blind you from the fact that you to have a life to live, Elizabeth Higgins. A life to live, indeed."

The final calls for the servants carriage rang out, and Higgins hastily curtsied to her mentor before accepting a surprising hand of assistance from none other than Mr. Simmons. Another jolt of excitement at the prospect of another adventure overcame Higgins' melancholy for the great house to be shuttered once more.

Whether it would be for another score or less than a year, no one could say. But the surrounding neighborhood had basked in the glory of Carver Castle one last time as a reminder of the heritage she carried. And it would not be soon that the wild tales of Mr. Darcy's elopement and house party would fail to entertain many a neighboring table.


End file.
